This Perverted Thing
by GillianDrake
Summary: Count Dracula has "this perverted thing" for a breather, specifically Garside Grange's Head Teacher, Miss Alex McCauley. But can the popular Vampire/Human love-story work between The Prince of Darkness and a Head Teacher? Please Read, Review and Enjoy.
1. Miss McCauley's Interview

He wasn't sure when it first began, this strange feeling of his. The one that had insidiously crept through his veins so that every time he saw her was a new thrill to be savoured like the finest bottle of the Baroness of Bucharest.

Perhaps it was when she had turned up for her interview, all bright and keen and intelligent:

"Next!" he called imperiously through the door. It had been ten, whole minutes since the last candidate had left his office, so he supposed it was probably time to let the next one in.

He slipped his copy of 'The Vampire Times' into one of his desk drawers-he was getting good at this undercover thing! Avoiding peasant mobs was getting easier and easier all the time…

The door creaked open and the faintest whiff of some feminine _parfum _curled through the air to his keen nose. He couldn't help salivating, especially when the candidate for the post of Head Teacher waltzed through the door and he saw that she was rather…'easy on the eye' was an appropriate expression, wasn't it?...Her chestnut curls were pulled into a pony-tail, so that a couple of loose tendrils brushed her shoulders. She wasn't like the other candidates, boring, drab, wearing those ghastly peasant suits; she wore a floral, violet blouse-not unlike one of the ones that Elizabeth Brannaugh wore, back in Stokely, but infinitely more tasteful…'tasty' couldn't possibly be the right word, but it _was _the first thought that popped into his head.

"Mr Count." The woman said primly, looking him in the eye while Renfield-like the squeaky-clean, efficient, tottering imbecile that he'd become-quietly closed the door.

"Please," The Count murmured politely, "Sit." He gestured to the padded chair in front of his antique, mahogany desk. It was a tiny chair, to tell the truth, and in fact, the Count rather liked it that way. He wanted to dominate the room, to intimidate the poor fools who wound up in _that _chair. The dimness of the room contributed to that atmosphere, somewhat; it made the room seem stifling. It made its chief occupant seem cold, cruel and deadly. More than one of the previous interviewees had shrunk into themselves and didn't say anything at all. The others, unfortunately, hadn't kept their stupid, breather mouths _shut_.

"Miss…?"

"McCauley." She smiled. It was a genuine, though understated, smile that shone and made her features even more appealing than they were already. "Alex McCauley."

"Ah…Yes." He murmured softly, immediately taking up papers on his desk that seemed to suddenly need shuffling. He hadn't looked at the papers all day…CVs…various applications…he found it, suddenly: Miss Alexandra McCauley's CV…

It was full of generally uninteresting twaddle, but he felt like taking a peek…She'd worked as Head Teacher at three schools, previously, turning them from total _dumps_ into shining academies of academic excellence. Ah, well…you couldn't have everything…

"You seem to have been exceptionally successful at these other _establishments,_" he deliberately rolled the word off his tongue, thinking that she would be enthralled by the sensuality of his voice. "Why is it that you wish to come here?"

"I would like to work with a blank slate; it's a rare opportunity, I feel. Besides the fact that I've never worked in a private institution and would like to see how it compares with the state system." She answered promptly and precisely, without even a pause for breath. He was mildly impressed with her-the words she spoke meant next to nothing to him, but it was simply the air she had; quiet, yet dignified. Funny, considering that her heart-rate had quickened just a touch.

"I see." He murmured. He'd already decided that this _Miss _McCauley was going to get the job; she was a female, and attracted to him; it wouldn't be difficult at all to manipulate her into doing what he wanted, when he wanted…Maybe-no-maybe not _that_! Or maybe? He'd have to be patient, he knew. Despite the fact that he was blatantly irresistible-his _cheekbones _for crying out loud!-he did know that she wouldn't simply _drop _into his lap like a prize plum.

"Well." He grinned, "That'll be all, thank you."

"I'm sorry!" Miss McCauley exclaimed, astonished that her interviewer didn't want to ask any more questions. It had taken her longer than this to buy her lunch! But then, Mr Count did seem a mite eccentric…even so, she was sure that he ought to be taking interviewing more seriously, even if he didn't intend to employ her.

"You have the job." He said smartly, standing up and walking her to the door.

"Oh." What could she say to that? She was happy, doubtless, but it was still strange to have, literally, a thirty-second interview and still get the job. "Thank you, Mr Count."

"It was my pleasure, Miss McCauley!" He beamed, knowing that, fairly soon, she would be working under this very roof and he'd have all the time in the world to play games with her. He opened the door and she walked out.

"Renfield!"

"Sir?"

"Get rid of the others." He said shortly.

"Yes, sir." Renfield replied discreetly.


	2. Necklace

"That's a _delightful_-looking necklace you're wearing, Miss McCauley!" he murmured, with the barest hint of a smile grazing his lips. She immediately smiled at the bare-faced compliment and looked away; she half-loved and half-hated it when the owner of Garside Grange took it into his head to be complimentary-and just…_sweet…_because whilst she blushed like one of the silly school-girls out in the corridor and felt her own breathing and heart-rate quicken, she couldn't seem to make her mind work properly-she got sidetracked.

She wasn't too sure why this happened, especially as Mr Count was quite maddening in almost every respect: he was arrogant, occasionally delicious-er-_mal_icious…and he liked to creep up on people. She knew the latter, because she'd found him behind a number of doors on a number of occasions and he somehow managed to get into her office without the door announcing his presence-and hers, like every other at Garside Grange, was a _very _creaky door.

"Thank you." She said,

"May I?" he shot up and around her desk,

"I'm sorry?"

"It's perfect; the line-the shape-the quintessence of all that is good in this world." His voice went deeper, became huskier and she couldn't help but look into his eyes, partly, she told herself, because she wanted to feel less vulnerable with him stood over her like a hunter having caught a rabbit in his snare. Mostly, she had to admit, his eyes were intriguing. The colour seemed to be somewhere in between electricity and ice. And they burned her.

Eventually, though, she had to look away-he was not here so that she could ogle him! Much as the thought appealed. "I'm worried about Vlad." She said finally, to which Mr Count groaned, as if she'd just ruined their perfectly uncomfortable moment by bringing up concerns about his son. It wasn't that he wasn't interested in Vlad, she knew, rather it was his absurd need to discomfit her. If she didn't know better, she'd be thinking that he was trying to seduce her…

But, dutifully, Mr Count sat in the chair in front of her desk. It was deliberately the same size as the one behind her desk; unlike her employer, she had no wish to intimidate anybody. Egotistical-there was another reason not to like him.

"I think we may have a case of bullying." She admitted.

"Well, you know how it is. Boys will be boys." Alex McCauley couldn't take exception to the patronising tone of his voice because she was stunned that he seemed tolerant of the practice of bullying-unthinkable!-until he asked: "What did he do? Take someone's lunch money?" Then she understood; he had double standards like almost every other parent that she'd come across.

"No. Vlad isn't the bully." She explained.

"Has he been protecting someone from the bully?" he demanded, as if the idea were insane though likely true. She willed him to understand; she didn't want to actually say the words-it was like admitting that she'd somehow failed Vlad in her duty of care. Not to mention that he was her employer's son, and knowing that Mr Count had a somewhat stern outlook on things, (he refused to release the funds for school computers), she thought that she might be walking a fine line between having this job and unemployment.

"No." she sighed regretfully

"Good."

"I think that Vlad is the one being bullied. Perhaps they're teasing him for being the owner's son." She really hated this part of her job. She hated it even more when Mr Count's expression grew thunderous. He leaned forward, finely manicured index finger pointing almost accusingly, and hissed: "You mean he's the…the victim." It was obvious that the idea of his precious son being bullied was sickening to him. She ignored the irony of his earlier tolerance of the practice and forged ahead. "Vlad is…_passive_, so I know he'll just ignore it-"

"But he could have this lot for _breakfast._ What is _wrong_ with the boy!"

"Can you…talk to him?" she enquired hopefully.

"Oh, don't you worry," her employer hissed, "I'll get him to…_pour his heart out _to me…"

He couldn't believe it! The Chosen one was getting bullied? _Really?_ By a bunch of prepubescent _breathers?_ It was unconscionable. Unthinkable. Vlad was getting more and more powerful as time passed, what was he doing allowing himself to be bullied?

Count Dracula was irate. It took sheer effort of will to glide out of Miss McCauley's office without butchering something. He spied a cleaner halfway down the hall, but thought better of it; **best stick to the milk**_**men**__,_ he thought with a sigh as he flitted to his coffin.

What was he going to do with Vlad? He knew that if he were to go to Vlad, now, demanding an explanation, there would simply be a fight; it was all he and Vlad seemed to have, these days. So he did the only thing he could do; he put a 'do not disturb' sign on his tomb side and closed himself into his coffin, drawing up images of the _bewitching_ Miss McCauley…


	3. Fascinating

It was six o'clock; the sky had darkened just enough so that the Count could freely roam the school without fear of some stray beam of sunlight. He'd have to be quick if he wanted to catch Miss McCauley; she'd leave for home in half an hour. He knew precisely where her home was-that wasn't the problem-but apparently it was frowned upon, in breather society, to appear in someone's sitting room-in the dead of night-without an invitation.

Her office door was closed, but inside, he could sense a heartbeat. Very alive. Very human. That could mean only one thing; she was marking schoolwork, or doing something administrative and equally dreary.

He didn't knock on the door-he refused-he _owned_ this place after all. And he owned the people who worked in it, including Miss McCauley-now _that_ was a tantalising thought…Besides, Count Dracula did not _knock_ on doors if he could help it (doorbells were a hazy subject).

So he turned into smoke, slid under the door and along the carpet before materialising behind the woman who was currently absorbed in her work. She didn't look up, didn't even realise that he was stood right behind her, which, frankly, rankled! If he were being fair, he'd made every effort to be silent and stealthy, but the Count wasn't exactly known for his sense of fair play, and so was mildly affronted that she wasn't as aware of him as he was of her.

After a good, ten seconds of thought, he decided not to be vicious in his revenge-at least, not too vicious. Utilising his vampire skills, he sent a shot of cold air up her back, knowing that she found it rather unpleasant.

Her back arched in a sudden, feline movement and she whirled around to look at him. "Mr Count! Please don't do that. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" As severe as those words could have sounded, a playful smile toyed at the corners of her pretty mouth and her delightfully shaped eyes.

"Oh!" the Count replied, all innocence, "Don't joke about such matters!"

As she pulled on her beige jacket-a defence against any more unexpected bursts of cold air-the Count glided around her and sat in the chair in front of her desk. He found he rather liked this chair; it was mildly titillating to feel like a naughty schoolboy being sent to the Head Mistress' office. He was almost jealous of the pathetic breathers who were. The glasses that she was wearing at that moment didn't quite help matters in this regard; he could easily imagine her in a tight pencil skirt, wearing those glasses and promising to give him the beating of his life.

It was unfortunate that she removed those glasses; it reminded him that there was a specific reason for his presence in her office. "So," she murmured, "what's the problem?"

For a split second, the Count couldn't help but grimace. They only ever saw each other when he had a complaint to make and she a request. It was mildly a distressing state of affairs that would have to be rectified immediately, he decided.

"You said Vlad needed more confidence in school," there was no point in beating about the bush, "I've hired a private tutor and, well, I've worked out a time_table_." He handed her the timetable that he'd prepared, sure that she'd approve, and if she didn't…well, then there was hypnosis, of course…

Her brows rose imperiously as she plucked the thing from his hand.

He was rather pleased when the glasses were put back on. "Vlad will only need to miss your most stupid, pointless classes."

She unfolded the sheet of paper, which was blotted with ink (the Count considered biros beneath his contempt) and inspected his handiwork. "Sport, Social and Personal Development, Home Economics." She said smartly, "These subjects aren't stupid or point_less_" Off came the glasses again. The turn of her mouth said quite plainly that she was less than impressed with his presumption. He couldn't help but grin like a young vampire caught in the act of razing a village to the ground-he'd done that, and it had been rather fun.

"Well, I hardly think Vlad need concern himself with…" he stopped short of laughing, "cookery."

"I thought we had an understanding." She said primly, her tone distinctly evocative of a school-ma'am reprimanding a recaltricant pupil, and he couldn't help but feel just a little bit aroused. "Oh, we do." He breathed.

"Vlad may be your son, but he is my student. And in my school, he must do things my way."

"Of course." He murmured, realising that he was going to be resorting to underhanded tactics to get his own way in this, "But on this occasion, I suggest you make an exception." He concentrated on her lovely eyes and gave a gentle little _push_. **There, **he thought, **I can do as I please, Miss McCauley, and you can't stop me. **

That thought was proven wrong when she blinked and said: "I'm sorry; Vlad must follow the rules like everyone else."

Stunned, the Count could only reply with a: "Really?"

"I'm afraid we'll have to agree to disagree." She smiled, before putting her glasses back on and turning back to marking someone's essay.

Irritated by her dismissiveness and by the sheer fact that the hypnosis hadn't worked, he leaned forward and drew the glasses from her nose. For a vampire, there was only one person who couldn't be hypnotised, and he was almost certain that she wasn't it. He couldn't possibly be in love with her…with a _breather. _"Miss McCauley, are you sure?" she looked up and he gave another gentle little _push_.

"Quite sure." She said simply, taking back her glasses, "Thank you."

The Count closed his eyes and sighed. "Fascinating."


	4. Tell Me It's Not Twilight

The first thing she heard was Mr Count's laughter. It reverberated from behind his office door (perhaps _lair _door was a better way of putting it). She wondered what on earth he could find so hilariously funny, though she couldn't honestly deny that she rather liked the sound of his laughter, maniacal as it was.

Whatever Miss McCauley had been expecting, the sight that greeted her as she opened the door wasn't it: Mr Count reading Twilight. _Twilight!_ She was tempted to close the door and then open it, again, just to see whether or not her mind was playing tricks, as it often seemed of late.

"Mr Count." She couldn't help the befuddlement that crept into her tone; Mr Count was the last person she expected to see with _Twilight _in his hands. Immediately, he stopped laughing and, almost sheepishly, closed the book. Alex McCauley couldn't help but smile at the thought that she'd perhaps discovered one of her employer's guilty pleasures, and, leaving the door open, she walked further into the room.

"Do you normally read this sort of thing?" She asked, concealing the vast majority of her amusement. "I-er-found it in your confiscation cupboard." He explained, his tone subdued not apologetically, but mollified at being caught reading about a teenage girl falling in love with a vampire who sparkled in the sunlight and didn't have fangs.

It wasn't Miss McCauley's cup of tea; she much preferred vampires like Anne Rice's Lestat, or Bram Stoker's Dracula.

He stood up and sauntered around his expansive desk, gesturing for her to sit in the tiny chair that she'd sat in for her interview. "Yes," she said, "I caught a student reading it in assembly." She did as she was wordlessly bid and sat in the chair. "Are you enjoying it?" She enquired, repressing the bubble of laughter that had just bloomed in her chest-she wasn't sure how soon she was going to be able to get over the sight she'd had as she walked into the room.

"Ah," He breathed, standing over her, "A haunting love story of a vampire man and a human woman…" he trailed off. She turned her head, feeling a cold breath caress the sensitive shell of her ear. Just as she caught his gaze, he turned away and returned to the seat behind his desk. "Sentimental and completely unrealistic." He sternly announced before asking: "I don't suppose you've confiscated the sequel?"

"I'll see what I can do." She said, having no intention of doing any such thing; Mr Count had no right to go rooting around in the confiscation cupboard…There was a reason for her presence in his office?...oh yes!-"Now, for a more pressing matter: the graffiti-"

"Some of it is hopelessly inaccurate! Oh, but I'm sure nobody believes a word." Mr Count grinned conspiratorially, settling into his seat.

The 'hopelessly inaccurate' and surely unbelievable graffiti being discussed had been daubed in black all over the walls in the corridors. Miss McCauley had discovered it when she came in last Monday morning. She'd asked Mr Count if he knew anything about it, but apparently he'd been away for the weekend. 'Must have been some bloody-minded delinquents!' he'd said, 'easily erased with a lick of paint!'

That was all very well, but that'd been Monday; today was Friday and, by now, all the students had seen and laughed at the daubed: 'Garside Grange Sucks' and 'Head Teacher: Mrs Count'

"Seriously…it will be painted over before Parents' Evening?" At Mr Count's dumbstruck expression, she reminded him: "You promised to release the funds…Don't tell me you've forgotten."

He then leant across his desk and trapped her gaze. His voice like black velvet, he murmured: "Don't worry. Everything will be alright." Miss McCauley wanted to believe him, if only so that she wouldn't have to blush at walking past the ludicrous proclamation that she fanciedher employer (which she did, but that wasn't the point) and wouldn't be embarrassed at Parents' Evening. Unfortunately, she knew Mr Count too well…

"You did forget."

He grimaced and leaned away from her. "I promise you, it'll be gone by Monday." He assured her finally.


	5. The Other Woman

**Author's note: Hiya, this is rather a long one, and it does go off topic a little bit, but if you could bear with it, that'd be great. I thought Magda's reaction to Miss McCauley was rather interesting, considering that-I think-it was at least a factor in her downfall.**

**Please read, review and enjoy }-)**

"Time for a tea break?" The woman's voice echoed down the corridor. Magda's hackles rose as Vlad took the offered cup of tea from the other woman's hand. "Sorry, who is this?" the woman asked.

"Oh, er-" Vlad gestured to his mother with the dirty paintbrush he'd been using to paint over the graffiti in the hallway, "this is my Mum." Magda sized up the other woman immediately: Breather, olive complexion, blue eyes. Whoever this _breather_ was or thought she was, she was no match for-

"Magda Carmilla Elizabeta Bathoria Westenra." She introduced herself with venom dripping from her voice. She stepped closer to her inferior so as to stare the woman down, warn her off. She insolently cocked her head to one side as if to say: got a problem with that? She found herself irked when the other woman replied with cold civility: "Alex McCauley." She then held out the plate of biscuits that she'd been holding and said: "Biccy?"

Alex McCauley knew precisely why Vlad's mother was being so uncivil; she felt threatened. Not that she should feel that way: number one, because Magda and Mr Count had separated-at least, that's what she understood-and number two, because, unfortunately, Alex McCauley and her employer were not an item. The basic fact was that Miss McCauley didn't get stared down by _anyone_, though that didn't mean that she couldn't at least extend a sort-of-half-friendly hand. Or offer a biscuit, anyway…

"No, thank you." Magda sneered, feeling like biting the woman then and there but unwilling to lower herself to such a level…she felt even more justified when the woman merely took a biscuit-thing and took a bite, before turning to Vlad. "Keep up the good work." The McCauley-woman smiled before addressing Magda with a chilly: "Nice to meet you, Ms Westenra." After which she stalked away to her office, leaving Vlad and his mother alone to talk.

"Eurgh, what a drab, little peasant." Magda said, not bothering to check whether the 'drab, little peasant' in question was out of earshot, "What _does _your father see in her?"

"Nothing," Vlad murmured with a bemused frown, "She's just Head Teacher." He put down his cup of tea and the paintbrush he'd been using. Magda smirked knowingly: "I know your father; he always had this _perverted_ thing for _breathers_." The last four words were infused with disgust, contempt and amusement-a strange combination that only Vlad's mother seemed to be able to put across with any success.

"You're being paranoid-Miss McCauley is not Dad's type." The concept of his father fancying his Head Teacher was laughable to Vlad. He just couldn't see the two of them together…the very idea made him cringe. It was bad enough that the two worlds of School and Home were glued together without…_that. _

Knowing that she'd never convince Vlad of what she knew was true, not that she cared much whether he did or not, she sighed and set about flattering her son into giving her the Regency of the Vampire throne. Bun-buns always had all the luck-staying with Vlad and getting the Regency-how was that fair? And now he wanted to get into this abomination of a fling with this _Miss-stupid-breathing-McCauley_…Well, she was having none of it.

It took no time at all to get Vlad to sign the contact proclaiming her the Regent; she'd have reporters from FANG magazine here within the hour to interview her and 'The Chosen One'. Magda settled into her throne with the maniacal sort of glee that only a vampire can have, posing for imaginary photographers.

She and Patrick-oh, and Wolfie, of course, would settle quite nicely into this school-of course, they'd have to shut it down and spread out across the wings-and _get rid_ of that despicable hussy!-and obviously her pathetic, sickly invalid of a daughter, along with her father, would have to move out. Speaking of children, she wasn't even sure where Wolfie was, at that precise moment…no matter.

Just as she dismissed the thought of her youngest son, her ex appeared in the room, his back to her. "Bun-buns!" she exclaimed coquettishly.

"_What _are you doing on my throne?" the Count demanded, also noticing that Magda had been busy in redecorating the room with artfully arranged peacock feathers and roses. "_My_ throne." She corrected happily, "I'm Vlad's Regent, now." He was going to fly into a rage, now, she just _knew _it. She always had been amused by Count Dracula's temper tantrums-and the sex afterward hadn't been too bad, either.

"Oh good." The Count smiled, unconcerned.

"What?" Magda demanded, just keeping from shouting in her frustration.

"Well, being Regent was becoming a bit of a chore; now I'll have more time for moonlit walks with the bewitching Miss McCauley." He sighed, obviously delighted at the prospect.

She couldn't believe it-she'd already known that the McCauley woman held his interest; she wouldn't be Head Teacher, otherwise, given his disbelief that women could get anything done that didn't involve looking after the house and rearing the offspring. But Bun-buns appeared to be head-over-wings! Damn. Well, Magda would soon have _that _set straight:

"I don't know what you see in that _stinking_ breather!" she snarled.

"Don't you insult her!" he snarled back, "She's more of a woman than you'll ever be."

Magda simply couldn't let that challenge pass. Gracefully, she stood up and walked toward her once-upon-a-time partner. When she was pressed flush against his back, she bent her head so that the ivory column of her beautiful neck was exposed. She knew that he wouldn't be able to resist her; he'd never been able to, before, and he wouldn't be able to, now. "More than this?" she asked on a whisper.

Just as she was sure that he would turn around and ravish her throat, she heard him say: "I'm sorry, Magda. I've moved on."

She could only stare at him in disbelief until, finally, she fully comprehended what precisely he had said. She then grabbed the nearest piece of heavy furniture and threw it at his head.

* * *

><p>Outside, Vlad was enjoying the sound of his parents fighting. As much as he disliked violence, the crashes and wrathful shrieks and yells were hilarious. They wouldn't hurt each other, they never had before, anyway.<p>

"Master Vlad, who do you think is winning?" Zoltan, Vlad loyal, stuffed hellhound asked.

Vlad hesitated, listening to the cacophony of breaking glass, splitting wood and general destruction going on inside… "That'll be Mum throwing something at Dad…oh, that'll be Dad destroying the furniture…" When a particularly loud-it sounded like a window-smashed, Vlad's brows rose. "That could be…either of them." He was feeling fairly confident in his plan to get the Regency given back to his father until a shocked "Ooooh!" was heard.

"Oh…it's over." Hesitantly, Vlad opened the door. The sight that greeted him was not a welcome one:

* * *

><p>They'd simply run out of things to throw at each other-that was his only excuse for having his lips caressing Magda's throat. Never mind the fact that it wasn't entirely unpleasant-especially when he thought about doing it to Miss McCauley.<p>

He looked up when Vlad entered the room, staring is shocked disappointment. "What are you _doing_?" Vlad demanded. He willed Vlad to understand that the plan had changed-they'd run out of things to smash each other's heads in with and this was going to be the only way that the Count could keep Magda occupied whilst Vlad went through his plan to get rid of the FANG magazine reporters. He grimaced before replying with the usual, love-struck poetry that Magda always loved to hear.

Besides, Ingrid-curse the treacherous (and amusingly wheelchair bound) girl-knew what to do; she hated her mother as much as he did.

Understanding his father's unspoken message, Vlad began setting up the rest of his plan.

* * *

><p>Later, as the Count was stretched languidly out on the chaise, after a satisfying go-round with Magda, the door opened. Looking up to see Renfield grinning, wearing a repulsive dress and mustard-coloured shawl with lipstick smeared all over his face, he asked: "Was it a success?"<p>

"Renfield dressed as a woman. Never Fails." Vlad said, arms folded, "The journos have gone."

"Gone? What do you mean '_gone'?_" Magda demanded petulantly.

"He means," the Count announced, "that you totally fell for my plan"

"Your plan, Bun-buns?" Magda's eyelashes fluttered in-the Count had to admit-a beguiling fashion. But he was long past being beguiled by this bestialist floozy. And he _really _detested being called 'Bun-buns'-it did nothing for his image as the Prince of Darkness .

"Don't 'Bun-buns' me, you nefarious harridan!" he spat, leaping up from the chaise.

"Bun-buns!" Magda cried innocently.

"Dad was just distracting you while we tricked the journalists. It's over." Vlad's tone held calm finality.

"Over? It's only just begun." Magda hissed the syllables with all the malevolence in her black heart, while her eyes glowed a wrathful red. "I'll sell our story to the Vampire Times, instead."

Just then, Ingrid opened the door behind her mother and awkwardly wheeled herself into the room, laptop on her knees. Vengefully, she yanked up the top to reveal the digital photographs of Magda and the Count that she'd taken while Magda thought they'd been alone.

"Oh," the Count grinned, vainly pleased at how good his image looked, "look at those cheekbones-you could cut glass with them!"

"Oh yeah." Renfield said, in a way that made the Count want to back away from him…slowly…

"Where did you get that?" Magda hissed.

"Wouldn't it be terrible if someone uploaded them onto Bat Bite for everyone to see?" Vlad circled his mother like a hunter moving in for the final kill. "Especially Patrick." Ingrid added with a wicked smile.

"Please don't show the pictures to Patrick." It would be rather an inconvenience if Patrick saw Magda in her previous lover's arms-that was an understatement of heinous proportions, Magda knew; Patrick would be furious if he saw the pictures that her daughter had taken…

"I won't" Vlad said, "As long as you annul the contract and _go home_."

"Never." She growled. Bats! Why had she let herself been seduced by the Count's pathetically flowery flattery? Oh yes…she'd been angered by the ridiculous idea that that McCauley bitch was better than _her…_She hated it when her vanity got her into trouble. No doubt Patrick would howl for a month about how she could never see the bigger picture.

She wasn't jealous…no…of course she wasn't…

"Fine." Vlad said simply, "If that's what _you _want." He turned and nodded to Ingrid, who, with a cool smile, pressed the button which would start the uploading process.

"…fifty percent uploaded…sixty percent…"

"Wait!" Magda cried, holding up the damned Regency contract for all to see. "You're a fool." She sneered at her son, "You could have been famous."

"_Dead_ famous." Vlad murmured nonchalantly, as he watched the contract suddenly burst into flames.

Magda then turned to the Count, her ire and disgust writ plainly across her darkly perfect features. How dared he play her? How dared he find that breather woman after _her? _How _dared _he?

With a last glower, she spat her parting words: "Goodbye Darlings"


	6. Timeless

**Author's Note: I'd like to thank everybody who's reviewed my work, it really makes me feel good, knowing that my work-and Young Dracula (because it is just COOL)-is appreciated.**

**I realise that I haven't really written anything original beyond the first paragraph, but that shall hopefully be rectified within the next few days. I'm still going to put the scenes between McCauley and Countie from the episodes in, but it will actually _look_ as if I made an effort. lol**

**Please read, review and enjoy }-)**

Wolfie, the irksome little runt, kept getting under everybody's feet. Though watching him bait the troglodytic fool that was Renfield was amusing-not that the Count would ever willingly admit it. Wolfie was a half-breed abomination in his eyes, and a constant reminder of Magda choosing a hairball over _him_: the Prince of Darkness. He wasn't in love with Magda anymore; he'd told the truth when he'd told her that he'd moved on. But the fact that she'd picked a walking bathmat over him still rankled.

"To the left." He directed from his haven under a shady arch, "Left! Not backwards, you imbecile!"

Renfield gave one of his obsequious and sickening smiles as he poked around on the cobbled ground with his stick.

"Yes-yes! _There!"_ The Count cried with frustration and relief when Renfield _finally_ found the right spot, "Dear." He sighed, before turning to the unwelcome fool who'd come to disturb his work. However, fortunately for the 'unwelcome fool', her name happened to be Alexandra McCauley, and she was never unwelcome.

"Mr Count." She greeted him with a curious smile as she wondered what on earth her employer was up to, now. "What are you doing?" she enquired.

"Ah," the Count grinned, "deciding where my statue should stand."

"A statue?" She frowned, unsure as to whether she'd heard him right, "A statue of you?"

"Mmm" he nodded ever so slightly, thinking that it was an absolutely marvellous stroke of genius on his part.

"How big is this thing going to be?" She asked, perturbed at the idea of such a frivolous expense when there were other, more necessary things that the school needed money for-which he refused to release the funds for.

"Well, I thought," The Count pointed the parasol toward the ceiling of the arch and stretched his arm, "so high?" He wanted it as big as possible, of course: nothing was too grand for Count Dracula. He drew the umbrella's point back to the ground.

He was already immortalised in flesh. He now wanted to be immortalised in…

"I'm not sure if I'd look best cast from bronze or…chiselled from stone." He'd been restless for hours in his coffin contemplating this serious issue. "What do you think?" He asked, genuinely wanting Miss McCauley's opinion, though truthfully, he wasn't sure why.

She turned to where Renfield was working and Wolfie was playing. She bit her lower lip in seeming thought before she replied with reproval lacing her tone. "I think…we need school computers."

**Not this again, surely?** The Count thought with a patronising chuckle. "I'm not wasting money on some passing fad." He explained, pointing his parasol out at the courtyard, where his mighty image would be erected, "This statue will be a timeless masterpiece." He was sure that his argument was infallible, that Miss McCauley couldn't possible fault it.

She could. And she was just about to tell him about it when Wolfie, a little boy who she'd only been introduced to the once, ran over, holding the stick that Renfield had been using to determine where the statue would stand. _A statue? _**Honestly, **she thought, **this man has money, vanity, arrogance-**She looked at the little boy whom her employer had taken in, and mentally added-**and a little something else. **

"Oh Wolfie! Leave that! Bad Boy!" The Count growled at the despicable mongrel who dared to profane the earth by breathing and being…happy.

Wolfie's face fell from its playful smile, before he handed the stick to Miss McCauley and, brightening, ran off.

The Count turned back to Miss McCauley and smirked: "I think he likes you."

"How old is he?" she asked out of interest.

"In human or dog years?" he asked, half-seriously and half as a bitter retort. Miss McCauley merely laughed at the man's seeming hostility toward the boy: "You're not fooling anybody." She informed him.

"What do you mean?" The Count demanded, suddenly afraid that she might have seen through the 'normal' disguise that he and his family had been in and was about to produce pointy and wooden.

"Beneath that stern exterior, you're just a big softie." She said, to which the Count smiled at the irony; he'd impaled half of Wallachia and drained innumerable peasants and nobles alike-not to mention that he was rarely 'soft' around _her_.

She continued: "Not many men would take in their ex's son…you must have a good heart." **He must have, **she thought, **even if he **_**is**_** strange, arrogant, flamboyant and impractical. **When she saw the curve of his lips and the irreverent light that gleamed in his glacial blue eyes, she felt a shiver of attraction and fear slide down her spine.

"And so have you." He observed, his voice like the softest, most forbidden black velvet. He listened to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat and murmured: "sixty-five strong, healthy beats per minute." He couldn't help the thrill that shot through his muscles when the rhythm quickened and she looked away with a blush. "Sixty-eight." He grinned.

This couldn't carry on, Miss McCauley knew; she was falling for her boss and falling hard. And _he _wasn't helping matters by being so…_sexual_. She'd read her share of trashy romances, where the woman fell for the man when he said that he would always love her and would die without her, and wondered whether, when she met 'the one', it would be like that.

Apparently not. Apparently, the man simply had to count the beats of her heart.

"Well," she said primly, handing the Count the stick that Wolfie had given her, "I'll leave you to your timeless masterpiece."

The Count took hold of the stick in his gloved hand with a soft chuckle, and watched her turn and walk away briskly.

"She smells nice." Wolfie noted as he bounded up towards his 'uncle Count'. The Count blinked and frowned at the pup, but couldn't refute him.


	7. Love Knife

He wanted to see her. It had been so long, now, since they had last spoken…well…three days. But that wasn't the point. He knew how he felt; he knew the signs.

He couldn't hypnotise her. He loved her company-he loved her _smile_! It was unnatural.

He'd thought-hoped-that he was too old to fall in love. No matter how evil and vicious and bloodthirsty he was, he wasn't sure that he could be hurt again. That's what Magda had done; she'd hurt him. She'd stuck a knife in his back and she'd twisted it with her every reappearance.

Perhaps she'd twisted the knife too much. Perhaps the knife had gotten blunt or worked its way out.

Either way, he wanted to know whether Alexandra-such a beautiful name-felt the same way. She was attracted to him, he knew that (all women were). But, as he read the last pages of 'Twilight', he realised that attraction wasn't enough.

He wanted her to want him. Heart, body, mind and soul.

"_Mostly I dream about being with you forever._"

He wanted to hear those words from her. And he wanted to give her that.

He wasn't like 'Edward', the moralistic, sparkly, fangless little virgin. He was Count Dracula; the biggest, baddest vampire in Vampiredom, and he would willingly bring Alexandra over to the dark side. But only if she was a slave to her love for him…which she wasn't, yet, but she would be. All he needed was time.

And he had a lot of that particular commodity.

**Author's Note: I know this is quite short, but I wasn't sure how to make it longer without it being totally sappy. **

**I'm in the process of coming up with something interesting, so just bear with me, ok? **

**Thanks again to everyone who's reviewed. I've got that warm, fuzzy feeling inside }-)**


	8. Impossible Fantasies

**Author's Note: I'd like to thank everyone who's reviewed my work so far, including amy-fielding and MasterOfGrey. Also, I can't wait for this week's episodes featuring McCauley and Countie; I missed their scenes last Monday and Tuesday. **

**Please read, review and enjoy }-)**

It had rained all day, which meant that the students of Garside Grange had been allowed to remain inside during break and lunchtime.

**The cleaners won't be happy**, Miss McCauley mused as she saw various crisp packets and empty bottles littering the hallway. She sighed and rolled her eyes when she discovered an orange peel stuck to the wall by means of greying chewing gum. It was a bizarre thing to see, and if it had been in an art gallery, it would have been framed-but Garside Grange was not an art gallery; it was a school.

**Why?** She was sure that they wouldn't dare do this at home, so why do it, here? Granted, it was hardly the Ritz, but still…

She shook her head, pursed her lips and would have stalked back to her office if she hadn't seen-just for a moment-a man crawling upside-down on the ceiling.

**No!**

…**Really?**

It looked, for all the world, like Mr Count. His dark hair framed his long, pale face and his lips were pulled back over fangs.

The instant their gazes met, however, shock replaced his predatory expression.

Speechlessly, she blinked. And he was gone.

What-how could that be? Had she gone and imagined it? Had her two secret fascinations manifested themselves in the form of Mr Count as a vampire?…this was ridiculous-

She swore beneath her breath and turned-

"Are you alright, Miss McCauley?" Her breath caught in her throat at the question…well, not really the question…rather, the voice that asked it. It was that silky, masculine voice that constantly distracted her, even when she couldn't really hear it.

And there he was, right beside her, condescendingly cocking one of his sinfully mischievous eyebrows.

"Um…well…" she considered telling him what she'd just seen, but quickly dismissed it as a bad idea. "Yes, I'm fine," she finished lamely, looking vainly down the corridor where he'd been crawling on the ceiling.

"I don't suppose you've seen the cleaning lady?" he asked politely, "I mean one in particular who happens to come from Transylvania-my homeland."

"Your homeland?" Miss McCauley's head whipped around to meet his icy gaze. She'd just seen a vampiric version of Mr Count-and the actual one happened to come from Transylvania. Next, she'd discover that his real name was: 'Dracula'.

"Yes. My family and I are from Transylvania." He said with an amused smirk twisting his lips.

"I didn't know that," she remarked coolly, trying to keep from delivering a scathing setdown, "Why did you come here: to the UK?"

"We got chased out by an angry, torch-wielding peasant mob." He said shortly. Alex McCauley laughed as she had when he'd told her that Vlad's mother was two-hundred-and-fifty years old. It was impossible; he couldn't be serious. But she wasn't about to ask again, when he clearly didn't want to tell her. It wasn't exactly any of her business, anyway.

"It was due to a small misunderstanding with the village elders…well, perhaps a _big_ misunderstanding." He corrected himself.

"Ah…right." She nodded, as if she seriously believed that Mr Count-from Transylvania-had seriously been chased from his home by an angry, torch-wielding peasant mob. As she made to walk back to her office, she said with utmost professionalism and a smile: "Well, I should get back to marking essays. And if I see Ekaterina, I'll let you kn-"

She slipped on one of the many drinks cartons scattered along the hallway and hit her head on one of the mint-green doorframes.

"Alexandra!" she heard Mr Count cry. She liked it when he called her by her name, she decided vaguely; it made her feel hot and shivery. She suddenly felt exceptionally cold hands picking her up from where she was sprawled on the floor. "Ow…" she muttered, feeling decidedly dizzy.

"Come along." He uttered the command smoothly, as if he were used to getting his way. Under normal circumstances, she'd have told him where to shove his 'come along'-in polite words, of course-though these were hardly normal circumstances and she couldn't do more than drowsily mumble. The whole experience became even more abnormal when he picked her up in his arms, which no one had done for her since she was five and her seven-year-old cousin Ben had struggled to carry over the threshold of some imaginary castle.

In no time at all, she found herself seated in a chair in her office, with a cold compress pressed to her forehead.

"It'll bruise." Mr Count informed her with a resigned sigh.

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." She mumbled something her brother Mark had told her when she was eight and crying over a grazed knee, to which Mr Count chuckled and replied: "True…very true."

"I remember Vlad hitting his head when he was very young-six, if I remember rightly-and he was sure that he was going to die unless I kissed it better." He recalled. She smiled through the pounding headache that was developing in her skull and recounted the time her baby sister Charlotte had demanded something similar from their mother.

He whispered then, the first thing that came into his head: "I don't suppose you'd like me to do the same for you?" There was none of his usual haughteur present in his tone, though his voice was delicately laced with seduction and sultry desire.

The actual words that he had spoken had only just sunken in when she felt him remove the cold compress. She turned her face upward to stop him. She felt she should-she didn't honestly want to-it just wasn't appropriate-she was excited and terrified at the prospect of what might happen.

And she felt the whisper of his lips across hers.

It was the merest caress, but it shook her to her bones. It was chaste, but definitely not innocent.

Miss McCauley wasn't in school the next day. The headache she could have worked through, but she wasn't entirely certain whether or not she'd fantasised that kiss. If she had, she'd best stay at home and rest. If not, well…she usually advocated courage and forthrightness, but there _were_ some occasions that did warrant cowardice, and this was one of them.


	9. Countie's PostKiss POV

**Author's Note: I thought I'd do something directly from the Count's point of view; I hope you enjoy it :) Again, I'd like to thank all of my reviewers:**

**TheFoundersDaughter, Sidders91, I Prefer Magneto, Potters Of The Future, MasterOfGrey and amy-fielding.**

**Thanks guys, I really appreciate your feedback. **

**Please read, review and enjoy }-)**

I shouldn't have done it. But since when had a vampire been interested in 'should' or 'shouldn't'? I'd wanted to, and that was enough. When she didn't turn up, the day after I kissed her, I was caught between disappointment at the fact that I couldn't see her again and ecstasy in the knowledge that she couldn't face me.

Because that could mean only one thing: I'd affected her. And _that_ was a start.

But I was going to have to seriously think this through; the father of the Grand High Vampire couldn't have a breather on his arm, no matter how delectable that breather happened to be. Yet I wasn't sure that I wanted to turn Alexandra McCauley into a vampire. I hadn't had a problem with it, at first, but as she wormed her way deeper under my skin, I realised that there would be certain downsides. She would be more evil, for one. And because of the blood bond that I would have with her, she would have to bend to my will…it appealed in theory, it truly did, but part of the reason I spent so much time in my coffin thinking –cough– about her was because she stood up to me. She wasn't cowed by me, and besides the fact that it would add something to the bedroom department, it would simply make life itself more interesting.

The thing was, I didn't want to live without her. I hadn't needed to carry her to her office, but there was something about having this particular female in my arms; I'd been with a fair number of women –yes, _besides_ Magda– but there was something intensely erotic about knowing that I could exploit her weakness–dominate her, if I wanted to.

And I did, let's be honest, but not as thoroughly as I'd been fantasising about. And that chaste brushing of lips probably got to her more than if I'd had my way with her on her desk (though that is definitely an idea for future reference). It certainly got to me, and I've _never _been chaste.

Debauched. Perverted. Shameless-yes! But never chaste.

It had taken everything I had to pull away and wish her a good night, but her dazed look-which had nothing to do with the fact that she'd hit her head-and the way she touched her fingers to her perfect, plump lips had been worth it. The sight was branded quite pleasurably into my memory.

So, I could either watch her grow old and die, or bite her and have the undesirable side-effects.

What to do…


	10. Drama In All Directions

**Right! That's it! **She thought, slamming the phone back into its cradle. This couldn't go on any longer; it was getting to be ridiculous…

She sprinted up the stairs-there really was no time to lose. She _needed _him to approve the candidates for the teaching positions. She'd already put it off far too long, already-all because she didn't want to have to face him after that bloody kiss!

It wasn't even a proper kiss anyway!-what was she; a woman or a mouse? She'd never been this unsettled before in her life-but _this _was far important than any personal flimflam that happened to be going on.

Finally, she made it to his office door. She rapped sharply before opening the door with a searching: "Mr Count?" He wasn't in and she was glad of it; her voice didn't sound nearly as authoritative as it had to when she was dealing with him. The only thing was, it looked as if he hadn't been anywhere near his office for weeks; books and files were randomly piled and strewn across his desk. She already knew that he didn't really give a damn about the school, but this was just…

The word: 'ridiculous' came to mind, but she needed to find a synonym or she'd be sounding like a broken record whenever her employer did or said anything.

Daintily, she rifled through the papers and files and God-knows-what-else that was haphazardly flung across his desk. "Oh, he's only had them for three _weeks_!" She muttered to herself, eventually finding the files that she was searching for-buried under everything else as if they weren't at all important. "The man's impossible!"

She'd known this at her interview. Why she expected anything else from him at this stage of the game was a complete mystery. Well, maybe not a _complete _mystery…

…

Meanwhile, the Count was pacing in the throne room, anxiously biting his nails.

The world hated him. It did. And he didn't care, most of the time. But, now, it seemed to hate him even more than usual-in a way that set him entirely on edge.

Vlad wasn't opening 'The Book'. Said 'Book' was lighting up like one of those breather things…_Christmas trees!_ It was calling to the clan leaders, telling them _precisely _where the Draculas were hiding. Could it possibly get any worse?

Oh, yes! They were getting impatient. He'd already had several death threats which he'd replied to with a very succinct 'Fuck off'-Renfield had polished it a bit, but the sentiment was unchanged. Now, they'd be paying Garside Grange a visit for sure.

"Master?" The slime bag that was Renfield pushed through the door, heaving a couple of boxes in his arms. The Count halted his pacing, waiting to verbally pounce on the blithering idiot.

"Miss McCauley would like a word."

Normally, those words would be sweet music to his ears, but right at this particular moment, Count Dracula had far more pressing things to worry about. He was getting a migraine from all the worrying he was doing. There were times-though they were few and far between-when he wished that Vlad could have just been the annoyingly chipper breather-lover that he had been just a few short years ago. What did he have to go and turn out to be 'The Chosen One' for?

"How about 'massacre'? Or 'annihilation', or 'slaughter', or 'bloodbath'?" Oh that was _all _he needed-the image of Him and Her in a literal _bloodbath_. It was a nice thought, but frustrating and distracting when he couldn't afford to be distracted.

"Isn't 'bloodbath' two words?" Renfield enquired. The Count felt his eyes roll at the servant's blatant stupidity. "She says it's urgent." Renfield added none-too-helpfully.

"Urgent! Some people just don't know the _meaning _of the word." The Count cried, making his way to that blasted woman's office, knowing that if it were anyone but her, he wouldn't give them the time of day.

"All this came in the post for you-" Renfield informed him, referring to the boxes that he had just dumped on the table. "You deal with it!" The Count snarled, slamming the door behind him.

He shoved his way through the breather brats that were clogging the stairs-he might even have pushed one of them over the banisters…never mind. It didn't take him long to find her office door. As usual, he didn't bother knocking, but he didn't have time to play games; turning into smoke and gliding under her door etc, so he just opened it and poked his head around, hoping that she would ask him a question to which he could give a monosyllabic answer.

His hopes were immediately dashed the moment she stood up, irritation flaring in her jewel blue eyes. "I found these in your office. I take it you've not read them, yet."

He wanted the sun to burn him and put him out of his misery. It would be the kindest thing. He had a whole drama going on upstairs about clan leaders coming to annihilate the Dracula clan and here he was, being harangued by the woman he might-sort-of-love about bloody admin-

With a grimace, he hit his head to the door. Maybe if he hit it hard enough, a stake could fashion itself and ram itself into his heart.

…

"I really need your input on the staffing levels." Miss McCauley stalked swiftly around her desk as she saw that her employer was just about to slide out of the door.

"Look, I have _no _idea about what a staffing level is-" He muttered hurriedly before almost dashing out of the door, refusing to look her in the eye. It was as if he wanted nothing to do with her.

That thought stung, but it didn't matter as much as the fact that he didn't seem to give a damn about this school, which _he _set up. That made her angry. But she could control it. She could…

"Staffing levels refer to the number of teachers we employ." She informed him smartly.

"Very good! Carry on without me-"

"It can't wait." She bit out, determinedly holding the door open; if he was going to run away, she'd just have to chase him. "Time is now critical."

She blinked when Mr Count listened to her with a pleading look on his face. It was adorable, she had to admit, but it didn't suit him. She wanted to put him out of this misery, but this had to be done.

"I have to hire new permanent staff and I _need _you to approve the candidates."

…

"Alright-alright-alright!" He muttered under his breath as he moved to a seat, just in order to placate the woman who had moved with him to read over his shoulder, making sure that he endured this torturous task properly.

But he couldn't! He just _couldn't _concentrate. He flipped through the pages of the damned files and saw the same thing: walking blood bags with teaching qualifications. At last, he cried: "Look, I _really_ don't have time for these minutiae."

"The devil's in the details, Mr Count." Miss McCauley said primly, wandering over to the printer in the corner of the room just as Renfield rushed through the door.

"He's in a lot more than that." The Count retorted, vainly scanning through the files _again. _He was in _his_ body. Not that she was to know that, but he _really _wanted her to. Right now, he wanted her to be as terrified of him as Renfield was, just so that she would stop putting him through all this.

He'd made the mistake of smelling her, and now he couldn't get the scent of her out of his head. She was distracting on so many levels that he hurt all over-mostly from the waist down.

"We've had a delivery!" Renfield gasped, "A _special _delivery! You have to sign for it."

"Can _nobody _do anything in this place without me?" The Count cried, feeling his anxiety level s shoot up to yet another notch, "If it needs a signature, I'm sure your scrawl will suffice-"

"Someone's _here!"_ Renfield willed his master to understand, "You know the…**reurgh**-thing!" the unkempt manservant waved his arms up in the hopes that the Count would work out that there was a scary-vampire-clan-leader-thingy-person who was demanding to see him.

"Huh?" the Count frowned, before realising what Renfield was babbling on about. "Right, we've got to go," he told Miss McCauley, darting out of his seat, "Urgent business to attend." He set down the files that he'd been flicking through and followed Renfield.

…

"But I really need your approval on these candidates!" she exclaimed, at a loss as to how to make her employer stay in that bloody chair. Perhaps she should put manacles and chains on the arms and legs.

"We'll do this later!" he assured her before flying out of the door with a flick of his long, dark hair, leaving her to pinch the bridge of her nose and run through her list of synonyms for the word: 'ridiculous'.

Impossible. Look the word up in a dictionary and, sure enough, Mr Count would be there.

…

"Yes or no?" Ramanga demanded with a hiss.

"Well it's a working progress." The Count defended.

"No." Ingrid interrupted, "He can't open 'The Book'."

Nobody paid any attention to Bertrand walking through the door.

"Is this true?" Ramanga snarled menacingly,

"Well, he's been working very hard-"

"You were supposed to be training him-"

"But we have-Bertrand is an excellent-"

"You've failed!" The dark-skinned vampire hulked-admittedly quite impressively-over the Count's lithe form, "We demand to know why."

"Well, I wouldn't say _failed_ exactly-" the Count started,

"_Where_ is 'The Chosen One'?" Ramanga growled impatiently, "Still he keeps me waiting."

"He said he'd just be a moment." Bertrand murmured respectfully.

It was at this insanely inopportune moment that Renfield chose to barrel through the door and step over to his Master. "Miss McCauley's here to see you!" He whispered loudly,

"Not _now_, Renfield; get rid of her!" the Count hissed plaintively, before addressing the other vampire: "I'm sure he'll be here, soon."

"This is most disrespectful!"

"She's at the door! She says it's very urgent." Renfield hissed, not knowing whether to be more scared of Miss McCauley or more scared of his Master. He made his choice when the Count whirled around and grabbed his lapels, "Tell her I'm in-" he shot a quick, harried smile at Ramanga before turning back to Renfield, "Tell _her_ I'm indisposed."

"Indisposed." Renfield repeated the long word just to make sure that he wouldn't forget it. He then shuffled hurriedly over to the door to pass on his Master's message.

The next thing the vampires heard was Renfield's mournful cry: "You're not allowed in here! These are Mr Count's quarters!" All heads turned to see Miss McCauley shoving past the manservant to address her employer in soft, though clipped tones: "Mr Count. A word."

**No! Not here! Not **_**now!**_The Count thought, panic seizing him. **She won't stand a chance against Ramanga!**

"Ah!" Ramanga cried in thirsty delight, realising one of the Count's worst fears; that he might not be able to protect what was _his_, "A breather. Good. I am thirsty after my long journey." He made to move toward the woman who was already hypnotised-already at his mercy.

But Count Dracula, the Prince of Darkness, was having none of it. He grabbed the front of Ramanga's coat and pushed him back. "You can't have this one. She's mine." He warned, prepared to wreak violence upon Alexandra McCauley's would-be attacker, before backing off with a: "I'll be one moment. Renfield, a drink for our guest."

He saw Alex McCauley's vacant expression and clicked his fingers, not daring to look back at Ramanga's considering expression for fear that he'd do or say something stupid. Immediately, she blinked and said: "I _urgently_ need your approval for the candidates so that I can start hiring."

"And, as you can see, I have a visitor." He gestured to the dark, unwelcome presence in the room that was Ramanga and willed her to leave before she got herself _killed_. Ramanga wasn't like _him_. He didn't want her, he just wanted her blood. And he was notoriously brutal about getting it. "So, I must insist we do this later." He opened the door and gestured for her to get out to safety.

"Then I'll wait here until you're finished." She said softly, her eyes drawn to Ramanga's. With an agitated grimace in the offending vampire's direction, he clicked his fingers again to bring her out of her trance. He knew that he was going to have to get her business over and done with and then get her out of here; she was too bone stubborn to leave without getting it done.

"Alright, alright. Just…lets do it quickly, here. Show me the candidates."

"The papers are in my office." She said softly, falling under Ramanga's spell, yet again, though this time, pulling herself out of it. "Oh," the Count banged his head against the door, wanting to cry. This wasn't fair on so many levels.

"This has to be done today." She persisted.

"Alright, give me two minutes-I'll be right there." he promised, before ushering her out of the door with a soft: "Go!"

As she left, he pushed the door, feeling completely impotent, shut. She was almost as bad as Ramanga. Almost; he didn't want to kiss every square inch of Ramanga.

…

"I approve." He said shortly, before whirling around and making to leave the office.

"You have to take this seriously." She pressed, "I need you to focus on the needs of the school, for once. Nothing's more important than the future of the school."

He turned back and murmured: "Quite right."

His eyes darted up to the clock on the wall as he continued: "I'm sorry. I'll read them properly." The look he gave her as he walked over and sat down, was so guilty and so wanting to please that she couldn't help the strangely mellow, grateful feeling that poured through her veins.

When she opened her office door, later on, she felt that, given the right circumstances-and no funny stuff-she and Mr Count could make an excellent team. "Thank you for being so understanding. I think we've chosen two excellent teachers." She smiled, thankful that he'd finally seen sense and done what he was supposed to do three weeks ago.

…

"Indeed." The Count murmured with a smile before turning round and heading back to his quarters. "The one with the short neck's a problem, but I do enjoy a challenge." He mused sinisterly.

Yes. And Miss McCauley would discover soon enough that Count Dracula didn't give a bat's nose hair about this _school._

**_Author's Note: I can't wait for tomorrow's episode. Can you? }-)_**


	11. Just For Her

**Author's Note: Hello my Creepy Darlings! Wasn't 'Bad Vlad' brilliant? I loved it. **

**Just want to thank everybody who's previously reviewed, again, as well as my new reviewer: Outasync-Countie is a _huge_ romantic; totally agree with you! :D**

**This one was quite difficult, for me, 'cause it was hard sometimes, to tie Vlad's evilness coming to the fore with Countie's relationship with McCauley.**

**Anyway, I hope you like it**

**Please Read and Review }-)**

This was _not_ good. Not good at all. Why had Vlad done this? What had happened to make him react in this way? She would have liked to have brought him into her office and asked him what was wrong, but something was very off-not to mention that the OFSTEAD inspector would be here, any minute.

The school was _trashed_. And Vlad had nonchalantly taken the blame. Not guiltily, as if he were sorry to have done it. Carelessly; he'd done it quite happily and he didn't give a damn what she thought. And then she'd blacked out…it was the strangest thing.

So she'd pulled Mr Count into her office to _beg _him to keep Vlad out of the way. She'd already suspended him, but she didn't think that would stop him from wreaking even more havoc than he had already.

"It's Vlad," she said shortly, "I've had to suspend him for vandalising school property." It took everything she had to ignore her employer's boyish grin. He seemed to enjoy the fact that Garside Grange was, at present, a mess. Was she really going to have to give him another one of her: 'the future of the school is of the utmost importance' speeches? Because, no matter what Mr Count thought of them, she was boring herself almost to tears.

But she refused to give up on this place. She'd turned three other schools around before coming here, and she wasn't about to let this one get the better of her. She was a fighter-always had been, always would be.

…

"Really?" The Count grinned, finally proud of his son's accomplishments-he'd only been properly evil for a day, and look at all the chaos and mayhem he'd caused!

Miss McCauley, however, seemed thoroughly unimpressed. Of course, she _was_ a breather, and couldn't possibly understand what was really going on. Her eyes were narrowed slightly and her pretty mouth was curved into a frown that he really wouldn't have minded kissing away…but that was for another day…

…

"I need you to talk to him." She dispensed with the usual preliminaries; they'd been through the 'I'm worried about Vlad-is something wrong at home? Perhaps you could talk to him' conversation enough times already.

Besides that, she was getting fed up of Mr Count's 'hot & cold' attitude toward her, and she wanted to keep these conversations as short and businesslike as possible from now on. That didn't mean that she couldn't look into his beautiful, electric eyes now and again, and wish…but nothing was going to happen, so she wasn't even going to go there.

…

The Count rolled his eyes, already knowing where this was headed, and already getting bored. "Ah."

"We have an OFSTEAD inspector arriving at this school, any minute. Do you know what that means?" She asked, her tone bordering on impatient. He liked it when she got impatient; it made him want to goad her further-see if he could make her lose her temper.

'OFSTEAD'? Of course he had no idea what an 'OFSTEAD' inspector was-he was hardly interested in all of this breather…codswallop. But the fact that Miss McCauley still entertained notions of him knowing or caring what any of this meant amused him, somewhat.

…

"Not at all." Mr Count beamed, making her want to scream and rage at the stupid, _stupid _man. She'd asked a rhetorical question and he was answering it with a maddening honesty that was deeply upsetting.

She took a breath to calm herself before explaining in clipped tones: "If she sees the mess Vlad has caused, it could affect our report and the future of the school."

…

"Ok, Miss McCauley." He said, mildly displeased that she couldn't see how brilliantly everything was going, "leave it with me." But he'd rein Vlad in…just this once…just for her.

He knew how important this school was to her; it wasn't just a challenge that she'd set herself that she _had _to overcome; she genuinely cared about the inhabitants-Beelzebub knew why-_he _didn't. And he didn't really mind pleasing her in this. Maybe if he pleased her enough, he might be allowed to court her…and other things.

But when she didn't say 'thank you', he knew that he was going to have to do something better than simply hold Vlad back for a day. _Simply_-ha! He had the strangest feeling that there would be nothing simple about it…

But he looked back at her as he opened the door to leave and knew that it would be worth it if he could have her smiling at him again.

It didn't take him long to find Vlad; he was in an art room, fiddling with some charcoal-drawing a picture of breathers pinned to the ceiling. It wasn't bad, either, but admiring his son's handiwork wasn't the reason why he was here. He leant against the classroom wall, arms folded.

"I think what you're doing is great." He praised, not really referring to the picture that Vlad was drawing, "The chaos, violence…wanton destruction. _Although_ there is an inspector in school, today."

"Oh, good." Vlad replied, not turning from his drawing, "another breather to bite."

The Count chuckled darkly at the idea; he'd been thinking the same thing, himself, except-

"No, seriously. Can we give it a rest until tomorrow morning? I think we owe it to Miss McCauley-" At that, Vlad turned, his lips twisted into a malevolent, mocking smirk. "Ah! The _delicious_ Miss McCauley!" Vlad mimicked his father's voice, knowing that what Magda had told him was true; Count Dracula had a crush on the Head Teacher of Garside Grange. How funny!

The Count was immediately jarred out of his complacency. Biting breathers was fine-just not _her! _She was off limits-no one, not even his precious son and heir-not even 'The Chosen One'-was getting to her.

"You leave Miss McCauley alone." He ordered, pointing at Vlad for emphasis; he was still Vlad's Regent, and there was nothing Vlad could do about it, short of killing him. And he was sure that Vlad wouldn't _dare. _

Vlad merely laughed at his father's attempt to control him. "And why would I listen to you?" he mockingly enquired.

"Until you're eighteen, I'm the one in charge." The Count snapped, realising that bad Vlad wasn't quite what he was hoping he'd be. But then, the Count couldn't talk, could he really? His own father had-quite by accident-been pushed out of one of the castle windows in the middle of the day, leaving his first born son-the current Count Dracula-to inherit the throne.

It was then that the Count learned, however, that any power that he had as Regent was merely an illusion. Vlad proceeded to demonstrate his powers to his father in a quite unpleasant fashion, leading the Count to plan something quite drastic.

Fang cuffs (slayers' finest). Argentalium spray. Gas Masks.

As he flitted through the school, looking for Renfield, he happened to bump into Miss McCauley-a welcome sight given the nasty wake-up-call that he'd just been put through-along with a short, red-headed woman who looked entirely too bland to be anything other than an inspector.

"Ah, Miss McCauley." He greeted airily, thankful that the woman had said something that had catalysed the acknowledgement that Vlad needed to be brought under control. If only _she'd_ been his mother…

"Mr Count." She smiled, though it didn't quite reach her expressive eyes which were clouded by worry and stress, "I'd like you to meet Mrs Cotton. The OFSTEAD inspector I was telling you about." She added meaningfully.

The message wasn't lost on the Count: be nice and don't be your normal, creepy self _please_.

"Mr Count is the chairman of the board." Miss McCauley explained to Mrs Cotton, who eyed him quite dubiously, "A really positive influence on the school."

"Well, one does what one can." He made a slight, chivalrous bow to the woman for Alexandra's benefit. He really wanted to wring her neck for distressing his Head Teacher so.

"About what we were discussing earlier," Miss McCauley said cryptically, "the situation has developed?"

"All sorted." He assured her, just as he spied Renfield down the corridor, "Excuse me."

"Dad! Speak to me!...Dad!" His son's voice was a mere echo muffled by the blackness of the pain that he'd already succumbed to.

He wasn't going to last much longer. In all honesty, he ought to have been dust by now, but his sheer, bone-stubborn fury had kept him going, fighting the terminal effects that the garlic was having on his body.

He felt the ring of burning garlic being removed from around his neck and felt the agony recede. Every part of him still smarted, but as he heard Renfield's imbecilic tones, he began to come back to himself. "Oh, erm…check his pulse?" the fool suggested, before recalling that his Master didn't _have_ a pulse in the first place "Oh…yeah."

…

"Dad?" Vlad shook his father, hoping against hope that he wasn't too late. How could he have done this? How could he have nearly destroyed his family? Of course, he knew the answer: his thousand evil reflections.

"Blood…" the Count croaked. It was a miracle for which Vlad would have thanked God if God happened to listen to the prayers of the evil.

He flitted down to the blood cellar and grabbed the first bottle of blood he could find. He quickly poured a glass and flitted back to his coffin-room. He put the glass to his father's lips and watched him drink, relieved that he hadn't been too late to save him.

…

Feeling his strength return to him, power surging through his veins almost immediately at the taste of blood, the Count's head rolled back.

He came forward and looked Vlad-the little bastard-in the eyes, sure that his rage could be seen in the depths of his own. He stood up, looming over the delinquent before dropping the fang-cuffs that had bound him to the chair, contempt saturating his every movement.

Vlad could only watch, his mouth trying to form apologies while the words seemed ashamed to come out.

"Turn on me again, boy," The Count warned dangerously, "and I will personally fang-cuff you to a sun bed." Oh, the boy would definitely pay for this…

"So…you're alright, then." Vlad said, relieved, before turning to the opposite corner of the room, as if someone were there, speaking to him.

"I'm going to make you wish you'd finished me when you had the chance." The Count threatened. Perhaps being stretched on the rack or having his thumbs taken off would remind Vlad of his place, at least until he was eighteen-

"Argh! Give it a _rest_, will you?" Vlad ground out, still facing the empty corner of the room. The Count was left perplexed; what in the name of Mephistopheles' teeth was going on? First his son tried to kill him, then he was desperate to save him-and now he was talking to…his _reflection?_

But that was all done, wasn't it? Vlad had merged, he couldn't be having _another_ fight with the evil reflection…it was unheard of. He looked at Renfield; the idiot probably hadn't a clue what was going on, but it was worth a shot. "What?" But his questions remained unanswered.

He could only watch as Vlad stood up, and, readdressing the supposedly _empty_ corner of the room, said: "Me and you. In the cellar. Now." Before sweeping out of the door.

"What was that all about?" Renfield asked, his brow furrowed with the effort of understanding the entire situation. "I have a vague idea." His Master muttered, more to himself than to his manservant. He wasn't sure whether or not he was glad that the old Vlad had reasserted himself. Alright, you could trust him with your grandmother, and he liked breathers a bit too much, but-

_Breathers! _Miss McCauley and that inspector woman…he was sure that the evil Vlad had left some inexplicable-and amusing from a vampire's perspective-things around the school. It would only be a matter of time before they were discovered.

Leaving Renfield to ponder about Vlad's ceiling, or something equally inane, no doubt, he darted to his own room and changed out of his housecoat, into something more publicly acceptable.

He then flitted downstairs to a seemingly empty classroom that the wide eyed…Mrs Cotton, wasn't it?...was emerging from. He could understand her being wide eyed; it was quite an impressive feat from a breather's point of view: the class of breather spawn were pinned to the ceiling singing:

"…six green bottles hanging on the wall,

And if one green bottle should accidently fall,

There'll be five green bottles hanging on the wall…"

Stealthily, he spun around and closed the classroom door. He didn't especially need an audience for what he was about to do, next.

…

"Miss McCauley,"

"Mrs Cotton, is there a problem?" Miss McCauley enquired, wondering why the inspector suddenly seemed to have blanched, her eyes like saucers; she looked like she'd seen a ghost.

"They're hanging from the ceiling." The woman croaked. Nonsense, McCauley thought at first, though she couldn't honestly deny that she hadn't seen funny things going on at Garside Grange-Mr Count, with fangs, crawling on the ceiling, for one. Not that she was about to admit any of this to the OFSTEAD inspector. So she pasted on her brightest smile and said: "Well they always enjoy a good sing-song." Before going to check that they weren't actually _on the ceiling_.

Thankfully, she was spared another strange sight-well, not as strange as year eight hanging from the ceiling, anyway. She was stunned, however, to find Mr Count directing the class' singing, using a colouring pencil as a baton.

"But they were hanging from the ceiling." Mrs Cotton spluttered, as Mr Count flung the pencil over his shoulder-Alex McCauley wished that he would stop doing that; he was bound to have someone's eye out, one of these days-"Ah, Mrs Cotton." He exclaimed, drawing over with a slight quirk of his lips.

…

"I wonder if I might have a word." He said smoothly, drawing Mrs Cotton out of the classroom and away from Miss McCauley's delightful, prying eyes, completely ignoring her exclamations of: "Mr Count, I don't think this is the time!"

He swung the inspector around, stared into her eyes and gave a slight little _push. _It was easy as blinking…

"Mr Count!"

There, it was done. All over, and nothing to worry about.

"Marvellous. That's very good news, indeed!" He said briskly, though with a pleased smile, following the hypnotised woman back into the classroom. "News?" Miss McCauley repeated, seemingly stupefied into speechlessness.

"Miss McCauley," the inspector beamed, her eyes holding a slightly vacant quality, "Goodbye. And congratulations once again at the shining example of what a school can be."

"Oh, thank you." Miss McCauley replied with a blissful smile that the Count was only too happy to have put there.

The students were still singing as the woman bustled out. He wasn't at all expecting Alexandra McCauley to grab on the sleeve of his jacket and drag him out of the classroom.

"Ow." He grimaced, stunned, not only at the fact that she dared to _drag_ him out like a puppy being condemned to staying outside for the night, but at the fact that he was letting her.

"What was _that_ all about?" she demanded once they were outside. To which he innocently smiled and said: "I simply made her understand what a first-rate Head Teacher you really are." As usual, she looked away and blushed at the outright flattery, which in turn, made him want to grin like an idiot.

"And Vlad?" she enquired softly.

"Back to his old self." He told her, deciding that he was glad of it. He took one look at the lusciously tempting skin of her throat and made a suggestion that couldn't possibly be refused: "Perhaps a drink to celebrate?" He couldn't help the passion that was singing through his veins at what might, perhaps, be.

But it fell totally flat when she asked incredulously: "You _are _joking?" At which he almost felt as if he'd just dropped off the edge of a sheer faced cliff. She didn't _want _him?

But then-that _kiss _they'd shared-was it nothing to her?

"We've got clearing up to do." She added with a mischievous quirk of her lovely lips, before pulling him along the corridor. "Come on." She said brightly.

With a silent groan, he mused that being forced to _clear up_ was only marginally better than being rejected. But it _was_ better…


	12. What is it?

**Author's Note: I'd just like to thank Lizella and Nemi Jade for their reviews (along with, obviously, the rest of my reviewers who I've already thanked) }-)**

**This is from Miss McCauley's POV. I figured that I'd done a POV for Countie, but not for her. So here it is.**

**Please Read, Review and enjoy }-)**

It was the funniest thing I'd ever seen. It was almost as if he'd never seen a dustpan and brush before, never mind _used_ one. His velvet jacket was folded neatly on a table in a nearby classroom, but he couldn't exactly remove his leather trousers. If he did…

Every time I took a quick peek at him, on his knees, trying to work the dustpan and brush (and failing miserably), I bit my lip. It wasn't my fault. He was just so damn…delectable-oh, brilliant! Now I was picking up bits and pieces of his vocabulary as well…I was just one step away from practising my signature with his surname-

'Mrs-

It only just occurred to me, then, that I didn't know his first name. Mr Count-that's all I knew him as. He never mentioned his first name; it didn't even appear as part of his signature or as an initial on forms. He was always simply 'Count'. So what was his first name?

I opened my mouth to ask the question, and almost immediately, I spied him out of the corner of my eye looking up at me expectantly, as if he were waiting for me to ask the question that was burning on the inside of my skull.

But I didn't ask. I shook my head.

What was happening to me? I had always been the one that asked the questions that everyone else was afraid of; I had always been the one doing the scary things. But asking _his_ name was apparently beyond me…I was sick to death of him being able to affect me the way he did-it wasn't fair. I couldn't even take him up on his offer of a drink…

He was still staring at me, as if he saw into my soul and knew my inner turmoil. The way he could do that unnerved me.

But then, face it, everything about him unnerved me. His hair for one. Long hair doesn't suit many men, but it did him. I'd caught myself on more than one occasion wondering what it would feel like running through my fingers, what it would feel like trailing over my heated skin…And then there were his brows; they were wickedly black-_sinfully_ black arches that were simply too expressive for words. Every quirk held a multitude of meanings from humour to fury. Never mind the fact that they were just _sexy. _And what about his hands? What I thought about his hands, I have no intention of repeating. That's far too personal.

"What is it?" he asked softly, cocking his head to one side.

"What is what?" I replied innocently, not wanting him to know the trail of my thoughts. He rolled his eyes and stood up, dusting himself off. "What is bothering you?" He was within arm's reach. I had to step back. "Nothing's bothering me." I lied, staring into his searching, blue eyes.

His lips quirked slightly at the corner. "I think I know you well enough to know when you're lying. So tell me, what is putting that frown on your lovely face?"

Before I could blush at his compliment and make up an answer, Mr Count's manservant came scuttling down the corridor. "Master!" he cried, "Master!"

Mr Count turned on Mr Renfield with the most evil look in his eyes. "What is it?" he demanded tersely. Mr Renfield then proceeded to whisper into Mr Count's ear which made the latter's jaw drop. All malignancy left his features and he turned to me, saying: "I have to go. Something is very, very wrong."

"What's wrong?" I asked, purely out of concern. What had happened to make him react like this? Had Vlad done something? Mr Count had said that Vlad was back to his old self; had he been mistaken?

"Vladimir has gone." He murmured weakly, before shooing Mr Renfield.

"I-" he began, gesturing vaguely around him, where we'd been cleaning up some of the mess that Vlad had made before the OFSTEAD inspector arrived.

"Go." I said simply, "Find Vlad."

He nodded gratefully. I bent to pick up the dustpan and brush and when I stood, he had already disappeared. I hoped Vlad was alright-what must Ingrid and Wolfie be feeling at their brother's desertion? What was Mr Count going to do?

No matter how physically attractive that man was, the thing that touched me most was always going to be the fact that when he cared about something, he really, _really _cared. Perhaps if I could pluck up the courage, I could make him care about _me _that way. But I doubted it; romance was for myth and fantasy. This was the real world where things like Vampires and Battles and Quests and True Love was all a fabrication.

If only...


	13. Swimming, Treading Water or Drowning

**Author's Note: I would, yet again, like to thank all of my reviewers. Your thoughts really do mean the world to me }-) I Prefer Magneto-I love writing the Count, he just makes me laugh _all _the time. He's just too adorable. And I love his vocabulary, to tell you the truth.**

**Anyhoo, just watched 'The Return'. I liked Mina last series-really hated her here. But I could sort of understand why she felt the way she did. Will be writing and hopefully posting up her interactions with the Count tomorrow. Btw, I couldn't stand Mr Van Helsing-total reject. But I still don't like the fact that he died. Bit harsh. To the writers: dark much? That's my only criticism :)**

**Please Read, Review and Enjoy (oh, and ignore my rant) }-)**

"Oh. All I want is a hot mug of Type O and my cosy coffin!" the Count exclaimed when Renfield, the walking sack of putrefied maggot carcasses sidled into the room. The Count had just been stretching, preparing to get into his coffin after his long night of searching. He'd flown the length and breadth of five counties and neither hide nor wing of Vlad could be found.

He was sure that Vlad was ok, but that didn't prevent his thoughts travelling down the road of undesirable possibilities…it wouldn't do, after all, for The Chosen One to be slain before he'd had a chance to rule. And then there was the fact that he didn't want his precious son and heir adding to Renfield's dust pile.

"It's-er-Miss McCauley." Renfield grinned, knowing that it would please his Master to hear from her. He liked her. She wasn't mean to him. She made the Count happy. And she didn't go rooting around in his bins.

At last! He'd been waiting to hear from her. She hadn't visited him with her usual list of requests for a week, giving him the time to go and look for his son without being bothered about school admin. Strangely, he wished that she had. He didn't miss the boring slew of recriminations about things that he may or may not have done (ranging from not signing various pointless pieces of paper to pushing mindless breather spawn down the stairs) but he did miss her presence.

She made him feel _valued_-liked, even. Yes, he was a vampire, but he was allowed these small pangs of loneliness _very _occasionally. He hadn't been valued by anyone who got close enough to him to know anything about him beyond the fact that he had devilish good looks and pointy teeth. Alright, there _was_ Mrs Brannaugh, but she didn't count as she could have liked the lowliest slug in existence and found a home for it.

"Yes, she's worried about Miss Ingrid," Renfield added, "And-er-wants to see you."

The Count rolled his eyes as he realised that, of course, it was always going to be too good to be true. Ingrid. That wretched, treacherous, irritating lump of girlish nothingness. That was all that Alexandra was interested in. Not him. Never him.

Always the school, or Vlad, or Ingrid, or _anything_ that wasn't _him! _

"Why is there no rest for the wicked?" he asked the world at large, before shooing Renfield out of his coffin room and getting changed into something more appropriate than his housecoat.

…

"I saw Ingrid, earlier." Alex McCauley said at length, observing her employer's feet resting comfortably on his expansive desk. She'd never done that before in her life, and she was never going to, but she would _love_ to put her feet up, insolently on her desk the way Mr Count did.

"She seems very down." She added sincerely. She couldn't say that she particularly liked what she'd seen of the girl, so far, but this…catatonia was something terrible. She'd seen it in her Aunt Doreen. Aunt Doreen had sat in her chair, gathering dust, barely speaking a word while the weeds and damp grew around her until finally it blocked out all light-all hope of escape from the grey world that she was trapped in-and she died. Ingrid Count didn't deserve that.

"Really? I wonder why." Mr Count murmured sarcastically, picking at his perfectly manicured nails.

"Well," McCauley blinked, "from the very little I could get out of her, she's…got no sense of purpose, feels her life is meaningless." From the looks of it, Mr Count was feeling a little that way, himself. Ever since Vlad ran off, he'd been withdrawn, probably thinking that it was his fault. That was why he was being defensive, now. She longed to tell him that he shouldn't feel that way, but she wasn't sure how to tell him. Their relationship always seemed to be shifting, always seeming fluid-and she never knew whether she was swimming, treading water, or drowning. So she'd kept away from him, giving him some space.

Suddenly, out of the blue, a ghost of a snicker escaped Mr Count's lips. "Of course it is; she's a girl."

"Sorry?" She frowned, taking extreme offence at what her employer had just intimated.

"Oh, I was just saying it's _very _difficult raising a young girl." He explained, his face all blank and completely innocent. Alex McCauley put her earlier misunderstanding down to the fact that English was not Mr Count's first language. Grammar was always going to get slightly mixed up, wasn't it? Strangely though, his voice didn't hold a whisper of an Eastern European accent. How weird…

"I can imagine." She murmured. Just then, a thought came to her-a _genius_ thought-one which could probably help Ingrid.

"I've got a friend; Dr Seward. She's a psychologist-I could ask her to see Ingrid." She offered. As she watched Mr Count's face light up, she absolutely knew that she'd said just the right thing. "That would be so kind," Mr Count murmured, fixing her with his ice blue gaze, "I'd be happy to sign any committal papers." He added, drawing a laugh from Alex. Mr Count could be so bizarre at times, it was almost as if he thought he was in the seventeenth century or something.

"No," she said, "that won't be necessary. She'll come and see her here."

"Oh, of course. One step at a time." He smiled.

…

This was getting to be incredibly vexing. Why wasn't she giving him any encouragement? He silently wondered when he was finally tucked up in his coffin.

She'd looked perfectly sinful in her red ensemble, sat comfortably in the tiny chair in front of his desk. She'd looked ripe and ready for ravishment. He'd wanted so badly to touch her, to feel her soft warmth again his frozen skin. She'd but needed to say the word and he'd have done it!

But no. She hadn't. What was a vampire to do? He couldn't wait forever-well, he could, but still…With Vlad, the only one who'd ever shown him any unconditional love or affection gone, he was beginning to feel emptier than usual. It was about time that he found himself some company, he supposed. Vlad would be moving out, and hopefully taking that _girl-_thing with him, and he had no intention of mouldering alone in his palace of doom (situated in Kent, hopefully) with only Renfield and Wolfie for company.

He wasn't about to fall onto his knees to declare his-literally-undying love. She would have to be the one who capitulated first. But how to get her to do it…


	14. Hell Hath No Fury

**Author's Note: Sorry I didn't get this up yesterday as I hoped I would. I'm splitting this little thing into two parts, I think. Just so that it's easier to digest. I will most certainly get the next one up-at the latest-on Sunday.**

**As ever, thank you to all of my reviewers, you really motivate me to carry on :)**

**Oh, and it's just occurred to me that I should probably write a disclaimer, seeing as the majority of what I'm writing is what we see in YD. Hum. Well, here it is: I own nothing-none of the names, none of the things and none of the places. **

**Please Read, Review and Enjoy }-)**

Vlad was back. This was marvellous news! Or it would have been if Bertrand hadn't been raining on the Count's breather hunt. Vlad was finally taking an interest in his vampiric heritage. But he didn't want to hear the old war stories from the Count; he wanted "facts" from Bertrand. _Bertrand _would get knocked down a peg or two if he kept this up. He was manipulating Vlad, taking him away from his father and the Count didn't like it one bit.

And then there was Alexandra McCauley. There were times when the Count was sure that she noticed him, thought about him, _fantasised _about him…And then there were times when she was so distant and businesslike that he wondered whether he'd imagined the faint blush that swept her cheeks whenever he caught her eye or the way her heart skipped a beat when he paid her a compliment.

And the kiss? It hadn't been spoken of, but it was most certainly not forgotten (at least not on his part). But this-this…thing that was brewing between them like one of Renfield's alchemic potions was going nowhere.

He respected Vlad's need to know the strengths and weaknesses of the vampire clans that he would rule someday soon. But Alexandra had no such excuse.

He wanted her eyes to search for his when she entered a room. He wanted her ears to be tuned to hear the sound of his voice. He wanted her to feel his touch when he wasn't there. It wasn't too much to ask, surely? She already had all that from him.

He was going to make her jealous; he was going to find a delectable female, bite her, have a little fun with her and put Miss McCauley in her place! She'd be begging him for his favours for sure. It was just a question of finding the right female.

In the meantime, Vlad had assembled the household in the Count's office and warned them that the Van Helsings had turned up.

"Curse those Van Helsings!" the Count cried, slamming his fist on the desk, "There's only one way to deal with slayers!"

"Wipe them out." Bertrand said coldly, his eyes taking on a blood-hungry gleam that the Count knew was visible in his own eyes. "Ah," he murmured in agreement.

"I agree." Vlad said, to the surprise of the whole room, before adding, "But it could be a trick; they could be an advance guard spying on us for the slayers' guild-"

"And how do we find that out?" the Count demanded.

"Test if their mind-wipes are still intact."

"Well, there's definitely something wrong with Jonno's; I'd _never _have that creep as a boyfriend." Ingrid muttered indignantly. Bertrand-the continental, know-it-all wannabat-explained: "It's common for victims of mind-wipes to make up memories. Helps fill the gaps."

Just then, knocking sounded at the door.

The stench of slayer could be scented by every vampire in the room. Almost in unison, the Count, Bertrand and Ingrid hissed, their fangs malevolently extended. It was quite an impressive display…

…which Vlad felt the need to cut short, sighing as if he were dealing with half-wit children: "If the Van Helsings were coming to slay us, I don't think they'd knock first, do you?"

"Well…" the Count murmured, retracting his fangs as Ingrid and Bertrand did the same. It wasn't usual slayer tactics…

"Enter." He called imperiously, still sat behind his desk.

The door opened to reveal Miss McCauley wearing one of her usual delightful smiles and a lovely new necklace. "Morning." She said, "Here's an old friend of yours."

…

When Jonathon had arrived in Miss McCauley's office, he'd been visibly thrilled after having found one of his friends from Stokely. When Mina had enquired who he was talking about, he had answered almost triumphantly: "I mean Vlad! And Ingrid!"

"Really?" Mina had exclaimed with a smile, "What a surprise!" before turning to Miss McCauley, "Vlad Count comes to Garside Grange?"

"Oh, yes." Alex McCauley had been pleased to reply, happy that Vlad had finally returned. His running away had been very irresponsible, not to mention the events precipitating his departure, but he seemed calmer now, more self-assured…more grown up. Not to mention that Mr Count had been visibly relieved to have his son home safe, when she'd spoken to him first thing, this morning.

"Mr Count must be in the area, then, if Vlad and Ingrid come here." Mina had grinned, "It would be nice to see him again, don't you think, Jonno?" Needless to say, Jonno had agreed.

"He owns Garside Grange, actually." Miss McCauley had supplied helpfully, "And he's head of the board of governors."

And so she was here, in Mr Count's office-which was full of his family-watching Mina and Mr Count get reacquainted. Although she wasn't sure whether or not she was particularly pleased about it.

"I couldn't believe it when Jonno told me!" the woman exclaimed shrilly, "Mr Count. And Vlad"

"Hi." Vlad murmured, cringing ever-so-slightly when Mina touched his arm.

"And Ingrid."

"Hello." Ingrid muttered lowly.

"It's so lovely to see you all," the woman gushed. To which the Counts, as you would expect, agreed.

Alex McCauley was loath to interrupt anyone meeting old friends, but this particular situation was losing its charm pretty quickly. She noticed how tense the family were; and either they had changed drastically since having moved from North Wales or Mina Van Helsing didn't know them as well as she liked to think she did. McCauley had met many of those types of people; they thought they knew everything about you when, in fact, they knew next to nothing.

McCauley could have told the woman that Vlad didn't like to be touched. She could have told her that Ingrid didn't like being the afterthought.

And when Mina addressed Mr Count: "So, Governor of a school…I always said you should work with children" McCauley had to force herself to keep smiling and not to tell her to stop speaking such total rubbish. Mr Count was terrible with children, for crying out loud-God knew why he'd chosen to buy a school full of them.

But when Mr Count replied in that soft, low voice that sent shivers stuttering down McCauley's spine: "How very kind", she felt her smile slip. That was the voice that, to her knowledge, he reserved for her. The fact that he would address this _Mina _in it-in front of her, no less-made her feel betrayed.

Not that she had any real right to, of course. It wasn't as if she'd grabbed the opportunity when it first came along. It wasn't as if she and her employer were an item. But she still sent a fierce glare at him when he said to the other woman: "You're looking _lovely _as always."

"Such a charmer!" Mina giggled turning back to Miss McCauley, who barely had time to plaster a professional smile onto her face. "That hasn't changed." She murmured icily.

"So," Mr Count asked, "how is that…_husband _of yours?"

Alex McCauley knew that it was spiteful and wrong, but she couldn't stop herself from silently smirking. Mr-'charmer'-snake-bastard-Count had tripped up, there. There was no way that he could flirt with the other woman when he'd just stumbled into the most tactless mistake he could have made.

She felt immediate contrition as she imagined the woman's face falling.

"I'm afraid Eric was killed. In an accident."

"Really?" Mr Count exclaimed, "How-"

"_Tragic_." Vlad cut in.

"Er-yes, of course, tragic."

"Those memories of us all, back in Stokely-you know, they really kept us going." Mina told them emphatically. She gestured to Mr Count, brightening: "You know, the line dancing,"

_Line dancing_? Mr Count did _line dancing!_ The thought of it was patently ridiculous-

"And the Valentine's party…"

_Valentine's party?_

"The time I came and stayed with_ you _for the weekend."

_What!_

"Good times." Vlad nodded unsmilingly. McCauley was ready to kill something, preferably Mr Count. How dared he? How dared he be so accommodating to this woman, who-judging from his hostility toward the '_husband'-_he'd obviously had feelings for? How dared he be so…_nice _to her?

"You know, they really were." Mina said, her voice softened by nostalgia.

Well, if Mr Count thought that he could pick this up again, now that _Eric_ was dead, and still flirt with her, McCauley was determined that he had another thing coming.

"Well, we should be getting on." She said, feeling a multitude of emotions wash through her: rage, hurt, discomfort…and more rage.

"Um, what exactly are you doing, today?" Vlad asked, as his father's wandering eyes found themselves drawn to Mina's beautiful, slender form.

"I'll be in Miss McCauley's office, working through initiatives that affect the school." Mina replied. **As quickly as possible**Alex mentally added, feeling a fresh spurt of anguished hatred direct itself at Mina.

Mr Count's eyes met McCauley's for a split second before he said: "_Excellent._"

"Perhaps…see you all later" Mina said, a smile in her voice.

"Yeah," Vlad answered.

Finally-_finally-_the woman decided to leave. Vlad awkwardly calling: "Bye" was all that could be heard as Miss McCauley turned and primly shut the door, without once looking back.

She had never felt this strong desire to destroy things and people before. Not even when she had been dumped by her boyfriend on the night before her prom and had been forced to watch as he did the slow dances with a leggy, blond bimbo called Sue.

At that particular moment, she hated her employer _and _the woman whom she was walking to her office. She would have killed the pair of them without a qualm, except she refused to give Mr Count the satisfaction.


	15. An Evil Gentleman in a Quandry

**Author's Note: I really want to thank everyone who reviewed the last chapter; I'm really glad that it went down so well. Here's hoping the same is true for this one...**

**Please Read, Review and Enjoy }-)**

"My dear Mina," he greeted silkily, "I'd be delighted if you'd join me for some tea." Where only a few years previously he would have thoughtlessly offered a cup of warm blood, the quaint lingo of the breathers was now tripping effortlessly off his tongue.

Mina flashed him a regretful smile. "That would be _lovely, _Mr Count, but I'm afraid I'm far too busy." **Oh, no, you don't! **The Count thought viciously. Mina was precisely the sort of female that he needed to use to make Alexandra McCauley jealous. He'd realised that when he'd caught the Head Teacher's furious glower earlier. Vlad had warned him away, but this was too good an opportunity to miss and he was sure that Vlad would forgive him for it, soon enough.

"Well, I'm sure you could spare fifteen minutes to catch up on old times." He coaxed with his trademark boyish grin before adding for good measure: "I warn you, I'm not prepared to take 'no' for an answer." Mina Van Helsing's face fell imperceptibly, probably overwhelmed by the honour that the mighty Count Dracula was doing her. He meant it, though; he would drag her to his office and chain her to the chair if need be. The idea was very reminiscent of when he'd had her locked in his dungeon, though this time his motives would be far different.

Last time, he'd been driven by a lust fuelled by his need to torture that infernal _woodwork teacher_ and to prove to himself that no woman could resist his charms. This time, he wanted to drive Miss McCauley into a rage that set her blood to boiling-he wanted to make her see how brilliant and peerless he was-he wanted her to love him.

And he would make her love him if it was the last thing he did.

"Please…" he gestured for Mina to lead the way to his office for some 'tea'. She smiled graciously and wordlessly made her way to his office.

He couldn't wait to bite her-couldn't wait to feel Mina's body turn limp and cold against him-couldn't wait to see the anger and heartbreak in Alexandra McCauley's eyes as he took the half-fang Mina into his coffin. It wouldn't be as pleasurable as if he were taking Alexandra, but sacrifices needed to be made for the greater good, didn't they?

"Right." He hissed determinedly as he followed the woman down the corridor and into his lair.

If he noticed Vlad's half-fang friend's worried expression, he didn't acknowledge it. Count Dracula knew what he was doing.

For a while, he and Mina sat silently on opposite sides of the desk. His chin was leant on his hands as his stormy eyes bored into Mina's soft brown ones. She smiled and shifted uncomfortably in her tiny chair, her eyes darting away from his, every other second. "This is nice." She said softly.

He wasn't listening to her. He let a secretive smile grace his lips. This was going to work quite perfectly. It was just a question of timing. He could easily hypnotise the woman, but he wanted this veneer of seduction. His eyes wandered lazily to her necklace-there!-necklaces were his speciality, always coming undone at the most 'inopportune moments'.

His smile deepened slightly as he imagined Alexandra getting ready for bed, saving her necklace so that he could have the privilege of undoing it, pressing his lips to the column of her fragile throat…

"Just like old times," Mina simpered, jerking him out of his pleasant fancies. Her hands were clasped tightly together in her lap so that her knuckles showed white. They clasped even more tightly when he coolly replied: "Really?"

"I'm so glad you talked me into it," she gushed.

For a moment, he wasn't sure if he could go through with it. Mina Van Helsing didn't have the same allure that she had in Stokely. She was just too…too _nice_. Far too nice-sickly sweet and with a potent aftertaste that reminded him altogether too much of Elizabeth Brannaugh. That woman had been disgracefully happy and sunshiny. But she, at least, had known how to stroke his ego in such a way as made her good wife material. The ability to cook and clean had worked in her favour, also.

But neither of them were _Alexandra_. Her name was an incantation that he only allowed himself to utter occasionally. She was witty, beautiful, more intelligent than many men he'd encountered and she was strong as tempered steel.

He observed Mina's gaze waver and fall to the tea set in front of them. "Shall I pour?" she enquired sweetly.

"Please." He murmured politely.

Mina reached for the teapot and proceeded to pour out the tea into their cups, her shudders betraying her evident anxiety. "Heavier than I thought!" she exclaimed with a weak smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Jonno's doing well at school," she said as she set the teapot down, "I know I'm biased, but I really do think the sky's the limit for him." As if he cared. "How's your Vlad getting on?" she asked, her breath quavering inside her chest.

"He's excelling. He's destined for great, great things," The Count answered, leaning back in his chair, finally interested in something that Mina felt like discussing. He didn't think he'd ever been more proud of his son, who was finally taking his responsibilities as a vampire and 'The Chosen One' seriously. The only problem was the tutor; Bertrand…but he didn't want to think about that at the moment. "In my opinion, of course," he added.

Another silence swallowed the space between them.

Just as Mina was about to take a sip from her china cup of tea, the Count murmured: "I adore what you've done with your hair." He'd been finding something to compliment her with for a while now, and decided that her hair was the safest bet. He'd always thought that it was the most beautiful thing about her; he was sorry that he couldn't see the chestnut ringlets spilling over her shoulders as they had when he'd first met her…Though, obviously, Alexandra's were sleeker and glossier…

"Thank you." Mina replied politely, the china teacup poised halfway to her lips.

"And what a charming necklace!" he smiled his viper-like smile in anticipation just before he shot out of his seat and moved to stand behind Mina. "Oh dear, I think it's coming loose." He said hastily, his fangs already extended, "Allow me to fasten it for you."

Alright, the seductive veneer that he'd been going for had turned out more like an awkward gloss, but part of him was becoming quite disenamoured of his little plan to make Miss McCauley jealous. What was he going to do when he'd done with Mina? What happened if Miss McCauley didn't do anything…

If he was going to act, he was going to have to do it now, before he lost all of his resolve.

He reached for the woman's slender neck. "No-no-it's fine." She said, putting her hands up to do it herself. He stopped her, laying his hands on hers and gently coaxing them away. He didn't want any hindrances. "Nonsense," he said suddenly, before adding huskily: "It would be my pleasure."

Never let it be said that Count Dracula was not a gallant gentleman.

"Forgive me for saying so, but you have the most beautiful neck." The sound of her steady heartbeat was thudding in his ears. "It's just like any other." She said.

"Always so modest…and so terribly sweet." He growled, preparing to lunge at her throat-

Abruptly, she stood up and whirled around. His fangs retracted as she stared him down.

Her voice quavered slightly as she told him: "Your familiarity is making me _very _uncomfortable."

The Count stepped back. He couldn't say anything. Couldn't do anything except acknowledge the fact that the whole thing had been a bad idea from the start. His face was kept carefully impassive as he watched her seethe.

All the while, the tempo of her heartbeats remained exactly the same…

"Excuse me." She said curtly before grabbing her handbag, opening the door and leaving the room. He could hear the staccato rhythm of her stiletto heels echo down the corridor.

He turned and closed his eyes. This whole thing had been a bad idea mapped out by a vampire in love. It had been a foolish plan to make the untouchable Alexandra McCauley notice him. Notice him she might, but love him back she wouldn't. Even Renfield could have told him that…maybe…probably not.

Either way, he hadn't meant to offend Mina. To kill her and use her, yes; but not offend her. He was evil, to be sure, but a gentleman nonetheless.

An evil gentleman in a quandary.


	16. Pretty Lies

**Author's Note: As usual, I'd like to start off by thanking everyone that has reviewed-your comments really mean a lot to me-and to the people who've favourited and alerted this story-you also make my day that much nicer.**

**I would now like to push Renfield's head into a rusty guillotine for what he did in Episode 11. But Countie's poetry...*sigh* I wish I got that note (the actual note, not the stalker thing that Renfield sent) **

**I will be writing about this episode, but I felt that a little bit needed filling in between the antics of last episode and this. **

**As ever, please Read, Review and Enjoy }-)**

The Count felt bad-and not in a good way. He'd had no interest whatsoever in Mina Van Helsing but he'd gone about trying to seduce her anyway and ended up not doing it particularly well. His heart-as the breathers say-just wasn't in it.

When Miss McCauley waltzed into his office the next day, all chilly detachment, he felt as if he'd been staked through the heart with a bit of wood that had just been roughly hacked from the tree.

"It must have been nice seeing an old friend." She'd noted coldly, her luscious lips compressed as she stared him in the eye. There was a dare in the depths of her alluring eyes that made part of him want to haul her over the desk and do all of the lecherous, lascivious and downright _filthy_ things that he'd been fantasising about since she'd first walked in for her interview. That would wipe the dare clean from her accusing gaze.

The other part recognised that he'd succeeded in making the woman he loved jealous. But her jealous anger was hurting him, possibly more than it was hurting her.

He kept all emotion from his face as he said: "Not really. I cannot stand Mina Van Helsing. There's something…not quite right about her." the fact that she was the mother and had been the wife of a slayer was part of that. Never mind the fact that she couldn't hold a candle to his Alexandra.

…

Alex McCauley was stunned for a moment. He didn't _like_ the woman? Really? Honestly? Well, he'd made a good show of pretending otherwise. She wasn't quite sure whether she believed him or not, but the nonchalance of his tone said that he was telling the truth…

"Oh...it's just that you seemed to get along quite well-" **Far too well**. Her blood still simmered at the memory of his silken voice seducing another woman, but she was willing to hear him out, if only to assuage the anguished fury that gnawed at her gut.

"It wouldn't do for me to tell the woman that the sight of her makes me retch." He spat with such hate that Alex felt stung by it. He sighed before apologising-or as close as Mr Count had ever come to apologising. "I had feelings for her at one time." He confessed, "I've never told anyone that, least of all _her,_ so I would appreciate it if that little titbit of information could be kept confidential-"

"Certainly." Miss McCauley murmured as understanding dawned.

"…And then…and then…"

…

He couldn't quite finish the end of his pretty little lie. He hadn't actually thought it through at all well. It had just sort of started and trailed off into…oh dear…Luckily, however, Alexandra said with an understanding smile: "I understand."

And that was it! He had an entirely new plan to make her fall in love with him. It was much more intriguing and much more pleasant…she would be his soon enough-oh yes-

But first, he would lead her in the courtship dance…


	17. To Woo A Lady

**Author's Note: To everyone who's favourited, alerted and reviewed, thank you so much. I'm putting it as succinctly as I can. **

**I'm a bit tardy, this week, but that's because I have Uni assignments coming from left, right and centre, so thank you for being patient.**

**Is it too harsh of me to want Renfield to have a nasty accident with a rusty guillotine? Probably, but I don't care }-)**

**Anyway, this episode was far too sweet for me to pass up so please Read, Review and Enjoy }-)**

"For pity's sake, can't you see I'm busy?" The Count demanded, whirling on his repellent manservant with an irritated frown. He'd given Renfield his orders already; he'd expected it to be dealt with without all of this nonsense, but apparently not. And now, according to Vlad, the Praedictum Impaver was beginning to show writing-

"Don't you want to sign it, Master?" Renfield asked, helpfully holding the long feather quill out to his Master.

"It's sup_posed _to be anonymous!" The Count snapped before turning away to wistfully muse: "What stirs a woman's heart more than the notion of a secret admirer? By the end of the day, our delightful principle will be head-over-heels in love with her mysterious Romeo. And then," he hissed, placing his hands on his hips in anticipation of the culmination of his efforts, "I shall reveal myself to her."

He imagined her knocking on his office door, shyly taking a seat and asking him if he knew anything about gifts being sent to her. He imagined smiling, taking her hand and 'confessing' to being the culprit before he kissed her. Again.

And this time, it wouldn't be a clean brushing of lips; it would be an expression of all the passion, admiration and love that he felt for her.

"Is that legal?" Renfield asked with a frown contorting his already repugnant features.

Suddenly grasping Renfield's crude meaning, the Count shot around. "Are you still here?"

"Oh yes, yes…oh" Renfield swiftly exited the training room as his Master shook the image of himself 'flashing' Miss McCauley in the middle of her office out of his mind before leaping into finding out what Vladdie and Bertrand were up to.

…

With a small, flattered smile, Alex McCauley picked up the unsigned box that had been left on her desk. She couldn't deny that she loved gifts as much as the next person, and the fact that it had come from some secret admirer had made it all the more precious.

She'd had her share of valentine's cards, of course…one shoved into her school locker when she was fifteen which had turned out to be a joke. But she wasn't bitter. Just because the guy in question happened to have grown up to be a minimum wage toilet attendant…no, in fact, she could help but quietly laugh whenever she thought about it.

She opened the box, anticipation clenching and unclenching in her chest. Her smile fell as she looked at the blackened, rotting rose within. It was embellished by a red ribbon that made a mockery of what should have been a romantic gift.

…

In the gloom of the Draculas' quarters, Renfield had just had a sheet of paper slammed down on the table in front of him. Both Renfield and his nemesis, Wolfie, looked at the sheet of paper blankly. Neither of them could imagine why the Count would want a love-letter written to the Head Mistress of Garside Grange.

"Well, what am I supposed to write?" he asked stupidly.

The Count put up a finger, wordlessly demanding silence from both, before launching into a heartfelt outburst of poetry:

"I have watched you from afar…you drive me mad with yearning…soon, I shall come to you." Count Dracula, whilst not the brawniest of Vampires could always be relied on to knock out a seductive verse or two to reel the ladies in before he went for the kill.

"Brief, poetic and to the point. Yes, that should stir her inner romantic…"

Though, there wouldn't be any killing as yet. He wanted Alexandra McCauley willing to bend over backwards for the chance to touch his lips. Again…

"Why don't you want to write it, yourself?" Renfield whined, not happy about being made to write a love letter.

"Because I'm busy." The Count snapped, "_And," _he took up last night's paper and threw it down before Renfield to demonstrate the real reason why the Count couldn't write this love letter to Alexandra McCauley, "Because my penmanship is a little…unmistakable." And it was, quite frankly. The crossword that had occupied Count Dracula for a good portion of the morning was marked with extravagant scarlet loops and flourishes-even the random squiggles in the corner of the page had been scrawled with flair.

"Now, write _exactly_ what I've said, whilst I go and explore this 'Sethius' business." The Count instructed, imperiously thrusting a quill under Renfield's nose, which the manservant took, his face melting into an ugly pout as his master flitted to the library.

…

Wolfie had been watching the entire exchange between Master and Servant. The little vampup knew that the Count was taking a huge risk in trusting the stupid breather to write a love-letter. But he wasn't going to say anything…he was just going to smirk in the background when Renfield messed up and got punished. It was funny when he got punished.

Renfield unfolded the newspaper to examine the 'Kiddie Section' that Wolfie had amusedly watched him frown in total bafflement over.

"Mine's a little _unmistakeable, _too." Renfield muttered indignantly, to which Zoltan, Vlad's stuffed hellhound disdainfully agreed: "The Count won't want Miss McCauley thinking her admirer is a two year old." Renfield angrily threw the newspaper over his shoulder. What did his Master want Miss McCauley for, anyway? She was just a stupid girl…thing…

Suddenly deciding that muddying the waters might be a good idea, Wolfie scampered over to the table and retrieved the paper from where Renfield had flung it. "I've an idea." He announced sweetly, holding up the newspaper with a conspiratorial grin. He liked Miss McCauley-a lot more than his Mum, anyway-and so did his Uncle Count. No, Wolfie wouldn't mind at all if she became a permanent addition to the Dracula household.

This idea of his was _definitely_ going to work.

…

As Alex McCauley examined the various forms that she was required to fill out for the day, she heard a shhhhing noise from her office door, followed by a knock. She glanced over and saw that a cream envelope had been slipped under the door.

If it was anything to do with the rotting rose that she'd received earlier, she didn't want anything to do with it. However, knowing that it wouldn't go away if she ignored it, she resignedly walked to the door and picked up the dreaded article.

Warily she broke the seal of the envelope and unfolded the letter within.

With a frown, she read the contents which consisted of letters that had been carelessly cut out of a newspaper and jumbled together.

"I_m W_**A**tCh_**i**_**N**_G _yO**u…**_**I**__m M_**a**d...IM c**o**_**Mi**__n_g fO**r ****Y**_**o**_**u"**

It was, needless to say, the kind of letter that one would expect to receive from a stalker. Brilliant. Just _brilliant! _Alex McCauley: Head Teacher of Garside Grange had a _stalker. _

**Fan-bloody-tastic. **She thought with a scowl.

…

Carefully, Renfield opened the little, black box that his Master had placed in front of him. Upon seeing the contents, he gasped and said: "Ooh, thank you very much!" to which the Count grabbed the lid out of the bumbling servant's hands and swiftly smacked him round the head.

"They're not for _you_. They're for Miss McCauley!" he snapped, ignoring Renfield rub his bald head with a pained 'Ow'. "The _piece de resistance _in our little game of secret courtship-the finest Swiss Chocolates; the best money can buy!" he announced proudly, sure that these would seal the deal.

"Now…deliver them to her office immediately. Once she's received these, she'll be _desperate _to know who her mysterious suitor is." He grinned in anticipation before dismissively informing his co-conspirator that: "Until then, I'll be in my..."

He picked up the newspaper that was lying on the table and opened it to find that certain _letters _were missing. "Study" he finished, peering through a particularly large hole in the paper.

Wolfie and Renfield both wore twin evil grins that made the Count particularly wary. In his experience, whenever idiots and children wore that expression, there was usually an angry peasant mob waiting in the parlour.

Count Dracula put down the paper, deciding that he really didn't want to know. "Right…" he said slowly, before disappearing to his study.

…

Renfield, Wolfie and Zoltan all looked at the box of expensive chocolate that the Count had-unwisely-left in their care.

"You're gonna eat them, aren't you?" Wolfie whispered, lolling around Renfield's chair. It wasn't a question, really...it was a given.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Renfield cried incredulously-a little _too _incredulously…before he uttered the immortal words that had Wolfie shaking his head, barely suppressing a shiver of laughter.

"Well…maybe just the one…"

Less than three minutes later (Zoltan had counted) the chocolates had all disappeared. All that remained of the work of premier chocolatiers in Switzerland was smeared around Renfield's gob. They'd been nice, too…Miss McCauley would have liked them-oh…

"The Count won't be pleased." Zoltan informed them with an amused glint in his unnaturally yellow eyes. "Make her some more?" Wolfie suggested, not wanting to be sent away because stupid Renfield had eaten the prized chocolates.

Brightening, Renfield said: "Well, I _do _have a unique recipe."

"I'm not sure Miss McCauley will appreciate _your _cuisine." Zoltan muttered dubiously.

"Ah-choc'late's choc'late-she won't know the diff'rence!" Renfield snapped, snatching the box from the table and making to run down to his kitchen to replace the chocolate that he'd gone and eaten.

Wolfie snickered; knowing Renfield, he'd probably put bogeys in the chocolate, or worse-and Miss McCauley wouldn't like that, which meant that Uncle Count wouldn't like it which meant that Renfield was in for a _very_ rough time in the near future.

He liked Miss McCauley, he did. It was just that he liked tormenting Renfield more…

…

Alex McCauley returned to her office from her lunch break to find yet another box awaiting her on her desk. With a groan, she made her way to her desk and sat down behind it.

The box was black and tied with red ribbon. It was the kind of box that was meant to be sent to a lover, but she knew that this box would be like the others before it; it would be a mocking travesty.

She gently pulled the red ribbon away from the box and set it aside. Her movements were slow and wary, not wanting to set off some sort of bomb…

She opened the lid of the box to find something almost as unpleasant. Spheres of chocolate were nestled in the purple satin lining, desecrated with a toxic green slime that clung sickeningly to what should have been delicious brown orbs of sugar.

With a confused pucker forming between her brows, she picked one of the 'chocolates' up, watching the green goo stretch and stretch until it snapped with a grotesque squelch.

Enough was enough. She was going to have to deal with this.

But before she did, she wanted to speak to Mr Count. She didn't like the idea of being stalked-of having people send her disgusting things-and she wanted to talk to him about it. She felt safe around him despite his efforts to appear frightening and forbidding. And she had even begun preferring his office to her own. It was dark, cosy and secluded-just where a cat might curl up and go to sleep as she'd often thought of doing. And it smelled like him-she didn't go around smelling people, like some lunatic; she'd just happened to notice his masculine fragrance one morning and had detected it ever since.

Yes, she'd go and see him immediately. He needed to know what was going on, anyway.

…

The only warning he had was a knock on the door a fraction of a second before it opened. He stood up from his desk with a delighted smile when his Alexandra had walked in the room.

Had she guessed? Had she guessed that it was he who had sent her those gifts? He'd wanted the pleasure of revealing himself, but this would do perfectly.

He was about to ask how she knew but was prevented by the troubled look that crossed her fine features. "Someone at this school has started a hate campaign against me." She said shortly before shutting the door. The Count's face fell. Who hated her? Who in the world could hate her?

He was the Prince of Darkness-he knew all about hate-and he couldn't hate _her. _He suddenly had the almost overwhelming urge to find whoever was behind this 'hate campaign', string them up by their toes and drain them dry.

"I've received _things_." She continued, "A dead rose, a threatening letter…chocolates covered in slime" **Oh dear…**the Count thought blackly...**she doesn't like them…but I thought-**

"I'll have to hold an assembly" she said, crossing to the chair in front of his desk, "Talk to the kids-write to the parents." She sat down, and settled comfortably into the tiny little chair that she had sat in for her interview. The Count did the same, unable to look her in the eye while every part of his being cried out at the unintended rejection. "I mean, I don't take any of this seriously, myself, but there are rules to follow." She said softly.

"That…may not be necessary." He murmured reluctantly, not wanting the whole school to know about his botched attempt to court a breather woman. "Why not?" she asked.

After an awful pause he looked up apologetically and said: "I know who sent you those…_things_." He'd never felt so inadequate in all his unlife-not even when Magda had left him for a Chihuahua with opposable thumbs.

"Do you?" she asked, her enchanting azure eyes searching, "Who?"

He screwed his eyes shut, trying to find some way to get out of this humiliation. "It was…"

The rose was dead because all the women he'd ever known (aside from Elizabeth Brannaugh, but she'd been strange, anyway) had loved dead flowers and he'd idiotically assumed that she'd be the same. It was meant to have been a romantic gesture, like the poem-he hadn't meant it to be threatening (he could give her a basis for comparison if she really wanted). And the chocolates weren't meant to be covered in…

Slime. Slime!

"Renfield." He hissed vengefully. Renfield was going to _pay _for this!

"Renfield?" she asked, disbelieving.

"Yes, I'm afraid he's developed a bit of a crush on you. He said-" He wanted her to know how he saw her, how he felt about her. Not that she would understand, yet, "you were the most beautiful, captivating, alluring woman ever to have trod this Earth."

…

Alex McCauley couldn't believe her ears. No one had ever described her like that. No one. Not ever. "He said that?" she croaked.

Renfield couldn't possibly have said such a thing. Could he? No, the idea was insane, ludicrous even!

But as she gazed into Mr Count's face, she couldn't help but be snared by his yearning expression. His stormy, blue-grey eyes seared her to her soul. She wanted so much to have heard the words from him.

"Well, in his own words, obviously." He admitted, which made her inwardly smile. Renfield, who she doubted she could be hypnotised into loving, may have said those things, but the words-and the emotion-had come from Mr Count.

"Renfield. Of course! Who else would be insane enough to think anyone could possibly like all those disgusting things?" she mused, missing her Mr Count flinch before replying:

"Yes, he really is…_quite _the fool."

"I suppose I'll have to talk to him." She mumbled, "How embarrassing." She didn't know what to say…where would she start? Oh…_dear…_was all she could think after a while. Oh…_dear_…

"Why don't I have a quiet word?" Mr Count kindly suggested, rising from his seat. It was an appealing idea, to tell the truth, but she couldn't. Much as she occasionally wanted to back down from a battle (and did, as the days following that _kiss_ proved, once or twice allow herself to), she couldn't let someone else fight this one for her.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly, it's not your problem." She sighed.

"Believe me," he murmured softly, tenderly, "it would be my pleasure." She looked up at him, into his expressive face and felt that maybe-just this once-she could let him deal with it. The man was very persuasive.

"Perhaps that would be easier." She admitted, standing. She touched his arm, wanting to feel some sort of physical connection with him, however fleeting, "Thank you." She whispered, as he gazed, stunned, at the delicate hand on his arm, "Go gently on him, though, won't you?" she added, recalling the odd occasion when Mr Count's treatment of his…servant was less than exemplary.

…

"I know no other way." He assured her, wanting nothing more than to pull her into his arms and forget the world-forget being a vampire-forget his evilness-and just simply be with her. She had no idea of the strength of will that it had taken him to let her just _leave_ when she did. But he let himself caress the arm where she had touched him. Feeling the lingering heat and perfume of her skin, he vowed that she would be his, come what may.

And Renfield wasn't going to be able to sit down for weeks...


	18. Very Nearly Vampire

**Author's Note: I fear I can do nought but apologise for the shocking tardiness of this update. I crave your pardon, good readers.**

**As always, I'd like to thank all of my reviewers, along with anyone and everyone who's alerted/favourited this story. You've really made this worth doing. I think I'm going to make the next chapter the last one-but don't worry, I'll make it absolutely brilliant-or as brilliant as I can make it, anyway. (Hint: Countie and McCauley go out for drinks and things take a really strange route-my Christmas Present to anyone who wishes to read it)**

**Anyhoo, as always, please, please, please, Read, Review and, most importantly of all, Enjoy! }-)**

He couldn't take this any longer; this tremulous uncertainty that was sickening in its entirety. He wanted her to love him, but there was no way to make sure of it unless he bit her. Then she would be loyal to him at the very least.

If need be, he could work at making her love him. Being vampires, they did have centuries, after all.

Much as he would like to deny it, he needed someone to talk to-_really_ talk to. He had to act for, teach and protect Vlad until he came of age. Ingrid-well, he wanted nothing to do with her. He'd had more stimulating conversation with a horde of bombardier beetles than with Renfield. Wolfie was just…well…_Wolfie_, though the Count had to admit that the boy had some promise.

But Alexandra McCauley was something else. He wanted to be able to grouse and rant at her about Vlad's obsession with a Half-fang-who-turned-out-to-be-a-breather-who-then-turned-out-to-be-a-slayer. He wanted to be able to plot with her against Vlad's power-hungry tutor and he wanted her to keep Ingrid out from under his feet. He also wanted her to share his coffin…

So, here he was preparing himself (or rather, having Renfield prepare him) for the auspicious occasion that was going to be Miss McCauley's introduction to being undead, whilst chamber music played on a scratchy gramophone in the corner of the crypt.

"How do I look?" he asked Renfield, who was smiling that sickly smile of his as he brushed the Count's flowing hair. "Magnificent…so…today's the-the big day?"

Before Count Dracula could bestow a reply on the snivelling worm, Ingrid appeared, annoyingly cheerful as ever since her _therapy_ (he had to admit that that was not one of Miss McCauley's better ideas). "Look at you all dressed up!" She praised, before asking sweetly; "Where are you going?"

"Just down to the school." The Count replied, defensiveness lacing his tone.

"Master wants to look his best for Miss McCauley." Renfield smirked, earning himself a withering stare from said 'Master'.

"Why bother?" Ingrid enquired, "If you want her to like you, just hypnotise her."

He would if he could. But there was a slight problem with that in the form of the fact that he happened to be in love with the woman. His inability to hypnotise her was how he knew that he wanted her. Loved her, even. But he'd have rather not had Ingrid know all this.

Unfortunately, Ingrid had already read the expressions that had floated across her father's face.

"Oh, I see." "No you don't. You don't see anything because there's nothing to see." The Count said deliberately.

"You _can't _hypnotise her because you're in love with her." his treacherous daughter pressed, stepping forward and gaining the advantage. "The Prince of Darkness in love with a breather." Yes, yes, the Count was quite aware of how pathetic it sounded.

"Well, not for long. I'm going to _bite _her and be done with it."

Ingrid smirked: "You want to take that risk?" "What risk?" "Do you want Miss McCauley to end up like Mum?"

There was an uncomfortable pause where the Count struggled to push his doubts back into the coffin that he'd managed to lock them into while coming up with this plan. He didn't want a treacherous, conniving heartless seductress for a wife, anymore. He'd grown out of that phase. He wanted Alexandra McCauley-the whole of her, not some vampiric ghost of her.

"That wouldn't happen." He insisted, though his voice lacked conviction. "I'm just trying to help, Dad." Ingrid shrugged.

He left before the doubts that spilling through his mind, thanks to Ingrid, could contaminate him any further. He was going to bite Miss McCauley. She wouldn't turn out like Magda. She would love him. He would love her. And they would live happily ever after in a castle in Surrey.

But such was not to be. At least, not yet:

Stealthily, he slid into Alexandra McCauley's office. He found himself watching the intensely fascinating woman; a prelude-an aperitif-to the event that would take place in the very near future. He listened to and watched the gentle throbbing of the artery in the neck that he wanted to kiss and lick and nip-er-_bite._

As if suddenly sensing his presence, she looked up.

…

"Hello. Have you read my new proposal for the science block?" She asked brightly. Aside from being genuine business involving the school, this little meeting was an experiment of sorts.

"Yes." Mr Count replied, his tone seemingly more intense than usual, but that may well have been Alex's imagination. "Absolutely fascinating." The words that rolled on his tongue seemed to take on a whole new, lascivious meaning whenever he spoke them. Unsurprisingly, her stomach did a funny little flip that she hid with an: "Excellent!" before turning back to her work.

Damn, this experiment was not going well; she'd woken up, that morning thinking that, finally, she was over her Mr Count and this 'meeting' was the only method that she could devise to prove her hypothesis.

Let's just say it backfired. In a big way. So much so that she was sure that if she kept looking at him she'd do something incredibly, incredibly stupid, like ask him out for coffee or something…

…

Malevolently, the Count bent toward her, his fangs extended, ready to sink into the succulent sweep of her throat.

He saw the woman before him turn and abruptly transform into something warped and distinctly Magda-esque. Her feminine curves were hugged by the scarlet dress that Magda had worn in their last encounter. The black jewellery was the same, as was the hair-and the seductive voice was terrifying in its near-flawless imitation of Magda's.

"Hello _Bun-buns!"_

…

"Mr Count," Alex began, having glanced up at her employer to see him looking horrified and not a little uncertain of himself. That wasn't like him. _At all_. "Are you alright?"

…

He took a risky look down at the woman who occupied the vast majority of his waking-and sleeping-thoughts. Thankfully, she was back to being simply Alexandra McCauley, her gorgeous chestnut locks pulled back into a simple ponytail and her golden skin flushed with the blood that pulsed within her. Nothing flamboyant, nothing extravagant and nothing evil about this familiar woman whom he loved more than death itself.

And he was confused. Part of him was drawn to the vampiric Alexandra, whilst the rest of him was repulsed by her and wanted the real woman before him. But that wasn't what he'd always wanted before-it wasn't what he was _meant _to want.

"I don't know." He admitted, turning away so that she couldn't see the inner turmoil reflected in his eyes.

But that _terrifyingly _seductive voice called to him, saying softly, breathily: "What are you waiting for, _Bun-buns_?" She turned her head and stroked the magnificently tantalising column of her throat, teasing his senses to the point of distraction.

He felt his fangs re-extending, ready to take what this mirage woman offered, but _couldn't_. It was shameful…

…

As she turned to him again, he whipped away from her. It would have been comical if it hadn't been so weird.

"So, you're happy with the proposal, then?" Alex enquired slowly, completely confused as to why Mr Count was behaving so oddly. Not that he wasn't usually _odd_, but this anxiety seemed completely out of character for the creepy, arrogant and seductive Mr Count.

"Yes-yes. You're fine," he said with a smile, as if he'd almost done something deeply terrible and had just reconciled himself to something that wasn't actually as bad as he'd thought it would be, "just as you are."

Why did she feel as if he hadn't listened to a word she'd said about the proposal?


	19. Aflutter

"People normally have their campfires outside," She admonished, eyeing the pile of ash marring the school crest. "Won't happen again, I promise you." Mr Count assured her with a slight bow and a smile gracing his pale, all-too-kissable lips. Alex McCauley suddenly felt her heart flutter. She had to say something to that; she was half-afraid that if she didn't say something now, she'd never get another chance…

Unheeding of the audience that was present, she said: "Well, if it does, you'd better invite me."

She watched surprise flicker across Mr Count's face for a brief moment before giving way to pleasure.

"It's a date." He murmured softly with a shy little smile that was so endearing as to stun her completely. She hadn't expected the tenderness that she now saw in his ice-blue eyes. She hadn't expected her breath to catch in her throat at the gentleness in his voice.

"Right." She said finally, before marching herself out of the hall in case she did something to completely ruin this.

When she got to her office, she threw herself into her chair and spent a good half-an-hour grinning and giggling madly to herself. It was too good to be true. She had not just asked out-however vaguely-her employer, had she?

_Wow._

**Author's Note: Alright, this _was_ going to be the last chapter, but I thought that what I'm planning really ought to go into another chapter-you'll see what I'm on about, hopefully in the next few days. **

**I know this is short as well, but this moment, however short it was in this episode, was totally perfect, and I didn't want to over-clutter it (I think that's one of my biggest failings as a writer, to be honest, but no matter) **

**I would like to thank everyone who has favourited and alerted 'This Perverted Thing', along with everone who has reviewed: TheFoundersDaughter, Sidders91, I Prefer Magneto, The Potters of the Future, MasterOfGrey, amy-fielding, Lizella, Outasync, Nemi Jade and Lexi. You've all been absolutely wonderful and have really made this worth writing for me, (although I have to admit that the vast majority of the work has been done for me by the excellent writers/directors/cast of Young Dracula)**

**Think of the next-and last-chapter as a Christmas present from me.**

**Please read, review and Enjoy }-)**


	20. As It Should Be

**Author's Note: I want to thank everyone who's reviewed/favourited/alerted 'This Perverted Thing'. The third series, I think, was the best yet. I love all the new characters, perhaps even more than the Brannaughs (all you Robin lovers, please don't shoot me!) and I can't wait until the fourth series. **

**I thought I'd end with this chapter. It's a little bit of silliness crossed with a little bit of tenderness and I hope I haven't gone too far over the line, i.e. I hope I've kept everything suitably in character (a tipsy Count Dracula is something that I've only ever imagined, sadly ;) ).**

**Thank you to everyone. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to everyone!**

**Please Read, Review and Enjoy. **

**Gillian Drake }-)**

"Come in." She called gaily through her office door. Today was a good day-a very good day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing and-Renfield shuffled into the office. A gross pout contorted his already rather unattractive features. Observing this, Alex couldn't help but be relieved that Mr Count had had that 'quiet word' with Renfield after he'd sent those abominable-it was unkind, but still true-gifts. Knowing her, she'd have trapped herself into dinner with the poor (ugly, unwashed, uncouth) man out of pity.

"Master wanted me to give you this." Renfield muttered belligerently, shoving a cream envelope into her stunned hands.

"Er…thank you." She replied as Renfield scurried out of the door.

She sat down at her desk and opened the letter, written in Mr Count's unmistakeably flamboyant scrawl. It read:

'My dear Miss McCauley,

Would you do me the honour of coming for a drink with me?

I will meet you at the school gates at seven o'clock, this evening.

Your Humble Servant,

Count.'

She couldn't help but be amused by Mr Count's assumption that she would be free, this evening. The question that he'd begun with was not entirely a question. None of his questions ever were. It was just like him; that arrogant, seductive, autocratic, lovable, annoying, devilishly handsome man…Still, she was hardly going to pass up this golden opportunity to get to know her employer a little better.

So she wrote a reply which read:

'Mr Count,

I'd be pleased to have a drink with you, this evening.

I'll meet you at the school gates at seven o'clock.

Yours,

Alex McCauley.'

…

"What do you think she means?" the Count demanded of his mostly empty study. Wolfie, sat in the tiny chair opposite the Count's, could only shrug. He was tempted to ask whether it meant what it said, but he wasn't suicidal by any means. And the vampire whose study he was in, supposedly learning how to play chess-_again-_had his brow furrowed as he read through the simple note for the twenty-eighth, ah, twenty-_ninth_ time.

"I mean, she's written 'Mr Count'-there's not even a 'To' or a 'Dear'" the fussing Prince of Darkness looked directly at his…_nephew_ (he'd decided that was the closest thing to describe Wolfie, though he'd threatened the boy from ever calling him 'Uncle Count' again, with sending him back to his mother. Apparently Magda was petulant and negligent with all her progeny).

"What's she s'posed to call you?" Wolfie asked, looking at the chess board that the Count had laid out in front of them. He deliberately moved his white queen so that the Count could beat him. Wolfie was getting better and better at chess all the time and the last time he'd beaten the vampire, said vampire had raged for three whole days, insisting that the vampup must have cheated. He hadn't.

The Count slouched back into his throne-like chair and re-read the note that Alexandra had sent. It had been Vlad who'd suggested that he take her out for a drink, and it hadn't seemed too bad an idea-at first-but now he felt _nervous_. As a rule, women never made him _nervous_. That honour was due only to the most powerful, most-likely –to-go-on-a-berserker-rampage vampires. And _that_ was fading, what with Vlad being the most powerful vampire ever. But _her…_well.

Until seven o'clock, he had nothing to do but prepare himself and wait.

…

She felt underdressed. She only hoped that he wasn't taking her somewhere overly posh; she didn't have time to run home and get changed out of her teachers' get-up.

So, here she was outside the school-gate, swinging her bag. She was early. She hoped that she didn't look too eager (i.e. _desperate_) She bit her lip.

…

He was late-how could he be _late_? Oh, yes, that was right: he'd gotten Renfield to buy a bunch of roses and the idiot had-for some unknown reason-put them in the oven. Why he kept the snivelling troglodyte around, he had no idea whatsoever.

Either way, it was two minutes to seven when he straightened his jacket, checked himself in a mirror, remembered that he didn't have a reflection, sighed and flitted away.

…

"I hope I haven't kept you waiting long…" Mr Count murmured, startling Alex McCauley out of her silent reveries. "Oh, Mr Count!" She gasped, "You know, someone should put a bell on you so that people know when you're sneaking up on them." To which he grinned and apologised unconvincingly for scaring her. "You're not sorry at all." She smiled as Mr Count gallantly offered her his arm.

"Where are we going?" She asked.

"Just somewhere small and quiet."

…

And intimate, he silently added, revelling having her warm, soft touch on his arm.

The talked on their way into town. Not about anything in particular, but the conversation was still diverting. It lasted the whole way to the bar.

It was a nice, quiet jewel in the centre of town, which served a fairly dubious clientele, including vampires, werewolves, ghosts, witches and…well, zombies were barred because they were bad for business. Either way, the Count was lucky to have found such a place; he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a blood martini or a 'Massacre on the Beach'.

Alexandra, for her part, ordered a glass of red wine.

"Have another!" The Count insisted after she'd finished her second glass, to which her shapely brows arched haughtily. "You wouldn't happen to be trying to get me drunk, would you?" she asked, laughter delicately lacing her tone. "Of course not!" he cried, putting his hand over his cold, unbeating heart in mock-hurt, before enquiring with a laugh: "Is it working?"

Even if she wasn't becoming overly tipsy, she had loosened up to quite a pleasurable degree, even going so far at one point to call him 'Countie' before apologising for her presumption. He'd smiled and waved it away as nonsense; 'Countie' was better than 'Mr Count' and immeasurably better than 'Bun-buns', and he said as much.

…

"Who calls you 'Bun-buns'?" Alex asked with a frown, unable to imagine the tall, dark and devilish millionaire being called 'Bun-buns' by anyone.

"Magda," Countie muttered with a grimace, "When we were together, we went through a whole repertoire of names from 'lambykins' and 'batty' to 'you rank bastard' and 'male chauvinist pig'. I think 'Bun-buns' was the compromise; for her it was affectionate, and I detested it."

"Oh," she couldn't think of anything to say to that and decided that 'Countie' was definitely safer than 'Bun-buns'.

"Well, either way," She declared, "I have no intention of getting drunk, this evening."

"Really?" Her breath caught in her throat at the way his voice curled sensually around the word. His electric eyes were alight with mischief and his lips twitched with boyish mirth. "I wonder how much it would take."

"A fair amount." She told him with not a little pride, "My brothers used to involve me in their drinking games and, as a result, I now have the ability to drink both of them under the table."

…

"Do you, indeed?" The Count had never been one to resist a challenge, and was doubly looking forward to this one in particular. "I'm sure I can match you." He coaxed, snapping his fingers to order another bottle of red wine and another 'Massacre on the Beach'.

So, for the next hour or so, they competed (in a totally unofficial capacity of course) in their drinking competition; it was a Friday and it didn't matter too much if they had a hangover in the morning. As a result, eight glasses of wine, ten 'Massacres on the Beach' and a number of various other intoxicating beverages later, and Count Dracula was discussing the merits of putting the 'Mr Men' through the most gruesome and painful methods of torture ever devised.

Alexandra, strangely, was agreeing with him. "I don't like the 'Mr Men'," she announced with a giggle, "I always preferred 'Rhubarb and Custard' and 'The Clangers'"

"I never could understand what Vladdie saw in 'Mr Tickle' and 'Mr Bump'; they're so _big_ and _bright_ and _round_. And they don't even have _fangs!_" he added the last as if the 'Mr Men's lack of fangs was the most heinous thing he'd ever encountered in all his six-hundred years.

"They're just so _cheerful!_" She replied with a scowl, "Don't get me wrong, being cheerful is nice, but not _all the time_! It's just so…so"

"Repugnant." The Count agreed blackly.

"Yes…what you said." She giggled.

"I do believe that _you-_my dear, dear, dear Miss McCauley-are _drunk! Sotted! Foxed!" _he hiccupped and chuckled, putting his head in his hands whilst she mock-indignantly declared that she was "not pyjama-ed…well…maybe just a little bit."

"Perhaps we should call this a draw." The Count mumbled, "I can already feel myself regretting our poor decision."

"No…no…I win, _Mr _Count." She insisted, poking him in the arm for emphasis.

"Did you just poke me in the arm? Did you just _poke_ the Prince of Darkness in the arm!" the Count blustered before continuing, "I have _never_ been poked in the arm, before. I am most highly insulted!-"

"Well, I'm sorry."

"I forgive you." He murmured with a smile.

"We should go." She murmured with a sigh, to which the Count groaned. He didn't want this night to be over quite yet. "You don't have to leave me," he implored, "I haven't had such scintillating company for _centuries_-no-no! I'm _serious. _Centuries."

"Ok." She said placatingly, patting his hand, "I'll walk you back home."

"That's _my _job!" he insisted, "_I _have to walk me-no _you_-home…thing is," he whispered conspiratorially, "I'm not sure I can fly."

…

Alex leaned forward, looked him in the eye and murmured just as conspiratorially: "I don't think I can, either."

"That, my love, is because you're a _breather_." He nodded like a child who is absolutely certain that what they're saying is absolute fact. Before she could ask what he meant, he continued: "We could always go back to mine. 'S closest. And we neither of us have to fly."

"I hope you're not going to take advantage of me," she said with mock-archness before giggling.

"I'm not in any position to take advantage of you, Alexandra," she smiled dreamily when he said her name, "besides, I like you too much. I don't want you to change. I don't want you to hate me."

"You are such a softie." She murmured.

…

The Count left that uncontested as they prepared to leave. In his 'mildly inebriated state' he supposed that he should be affronted by being called a 'softie', on the other hand, he was too happy that she found something agreeable about him.

They were silent, walking back to Garside Grange. They slipped through the back door. Well, if 'slipped' actually meant 'shook the back door and shouted for Renfield until he came and opened the door with a scowl'.

"Hello, Renfield." Alexandra beamed happily.

"_Renfield_!" The Count smiled, draping an arm across his snivelling manservant's grimy shoulders, "You are disgusting, repellent-"

"Countie!" Alexandra reproved swaying slightly.

"It's _true_." The Count insisted, turning back to a thoroughly bemused Renfield, "You are disgusting, repellent…your cooking is completely inedible…and I can't stand you…but 'm glad you're back…you were insufferable when you were all…_efficient_ and _clean _and _fainting all the time._ Now get Alexandra and I some blankets and report to throne room." The Count ordered imperiously, before guiding his alluring companion there, himself.

When he had them both settled on a sofa, next to a fire roaring in the fireplace, he closed his eyes and felt happier than he'd ever felt in his six-hundred years. It was even better when he felt a soft kiss press itself against his cheek.

…

"Tonight was wonderful," Alex whispered, snuggling into him. She'd be ridiculously embarrassed in the morning, but for now, all was as it should be. "Thank you."

Yes. All was as it should be.


End file.
